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A    B  O  O  K 


Golden    Deeds 


GREATER    LOVE    HATH     NO     MAX     THAN    THIS,    THAT 
HE    LAY    DOWN    HIS    LIFE    FOR    HIS    FRIEND. 


Wi 


& 


A    BOOK    OF 

Golden    Deeds 

OF  ALL    TIMES   AND   ALL    LANDS 

GATHERED  AND  NARRATED  BY 

THE    AUTHOR    OF    THE    "HEIR    OF     REDCLYFFE." 


C  A  M  B  RIDGE 

S  E  V  E  R    AND     E  R  A  N  C  1  S 

1865 


University    Press: 

Welch,    Bigelow,    and    Company, 

Cambridge. 


PREFACE. 

AS  the  most  striking  lines  of  poetry  are  the 
most  hackneyed,  because  they  have  grown 
to  be  the  common  inheritance  of  all  the  world, 
so  many  of  the  most  noble  deeds  that  earth  can 
show  have  become  the  best  known,  and  enjoyed 
their  full  meed  of  fame.  Therefore  it  may  be 
feared  that  many  of  the  events  here  detailed,  or 
alluded  to,  may  seem  trite  to  those  in  search  of 
novelty ;  but  it  is  not  for  such  that  the  collec- 
tion has  been  made.  It  is  rather  intended  as  a 
treasury  for  young  people,  where  they  may  find 
minuter  particulars  than  their  abridged  histories 
usually  afford  of  the  soul-stirring  deeds  that 
give  life  and  glory  to  the  record  of  events  ;  and 
where  also  other  like  actions,  out  of  their  ordi- 
nary course  of  reading,  may  be  placed  before 
them,  in  the  trust  that  example  may  inspire  the 
spirit  of  heroism  and  self-devotion.     For  surely 


vi  Preface. 

it  must  be  a  wholesome  contemplation  to  lock 
on  actions,  the  very  essence  of  which  is  such 
entire  absorption  in  others  that  self  is  not  so 
much  renounced  as  forgotten ;  the  object  of 
which  is  not  to  win  promotion,  wealth,  or  suc- 
cess, but  simple  duty,  mercy,  and  loving-kind- 
ness. These  are  the  actions  wrought,  "  hoping 
for  nothing  again,"  but  which  most  surely  have 
their  reward. 

The  authorities  have  not  been  given,  as  for 
the  most  part  the  narratives  lie  on  the  surface 
of  history.  For  the  description  of  the  Coli- 
saeum,  I  have,  however,  been  indebted  to  the 
Abbe  Gerbet's  Rome  Chre'tienne ;  for  the 
Housewives  of  Lowenburg,  and  St.  Stephen's 
Crown,  to  Freytag's  Sketches  of  German  Life ; 
and  for  the  story  of  George  the  Triller,  to  Mr. 
Mayhew's  Germany.  The  Escape  of  Attalus  is 
narrated  (from  Gregory  of  Tours)  in  Thierry's 
"  Lettres  sur  l'Histoire  de  France  " ;  the  Rus- 
sian officer's  adventures,  and  those  of  Prascovia 
Lopouloff,  the  true  Elizabeth  of  Siberia,  are 
from  M.  le  Maistre  ;  the  shipwrecks  chiefly 
from  Gilly's  "  Shipwrecks  of  the  British  Navy  "  ; 
the  Jersey  Powder  Magazine  from  the  "  Annual 
Register,"  and  that  at  Ciudad  Rodrigo,  from  the 
traditions  of  the  5 2d  Regiment. 


Preface.  vii 

There  is  a  cloud  of  doubt  resting  on  a  few  of 
the  tales,  which  it  may  be  honest  to  mention, 
though  they  were  far  too  beautiful  not  to  tell. 
These  are  the  details  of  the  Gallic  occupation 
of  Rome,  the  Legend  of  St.  Genevieve,  the 
Letter  of  Gertrude  von  der  Wart,  the  stories  of 
the  Keys  of  Calais,  of  the  Dragon  of  Rhodes, 
and  we  fear  we  must  add,  both  Nelson's  plan 
of  the  battle  of  the  Nile,  and  likewise  the  exact 
form  of  the  heroism  of  young  Casabianca,  of 
which  no  two  accounts  agree.  But  it  was  not 
possible  to  give  up  such  stories  as  these,  and 
the  thread  of  truth  there  must  be  in  them  has 
developed  into  such  a  beautiful  tissue,  that  even 
if  unsubstantial  when  tested,  it  is  surely  delight- 
ful to  contemplate. 

Some  stories  have  been  passed  over  as  too 
devoid  of  foundation,  in  especial  that  of  young 
Henri,  Duke  of  Nemours,  who,  at  ten  years  old, 
was  said  to  have  been  hung  up  with  his  little 
brother  of  eight  in  one  of  Louis  XL's  cages  at 
Loches,  with  orders  that  two  of  the  children's 
teeth  should  daily  be  pulled  out  and  brought 
to  the  king.  The  elder  child  was  said  to  have 
insisted  on  giving  the  whole  supply  of  teeth,  so 
as  to  save  his  brother  ;  but  though  they  were 
certainly  imprisoned  after  their  father's  execu- 


viii  Preface. 

tion,  they  were  released  after  Louis's  death  in  a 
condition  which  disproves  this  atrocity. 

The  Indian  mutiny  might  likewise  have  sup- 
plied glorious  instances  of  Christian  self-devo- 
tion, but  want  of  materials  has  compelled  us  to 
stop  short  of  recording  those  noble  deeds  by 
which  delicate  women  and  light-hearted  young 
soldiers  showed,  that  in  the  hour  of  need  there 
was  not  wanting  to  them  the  highest  and  deep- 
est "spirit  of  self-sacrifice." 

At  some  risk  of  prolixity,  enough  of  the  sur- 
rounding events  have  in  general  been  given  to 
make  the  situation  comprehensible,  even  with- 
out knowledge  of  the  general  history.  This  has 
been  done  in  the  hope  that  these  extracts  may 
serve  as  a  mother's  storehouse  for  reading  aloud 
to  her  boys,  or  that  they  may  be  found  useful 
for  short  readings  to  the  intelligent,  though 
uneducated  classes. 

November  17th,  1864. 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

What  is  a  Golden  Deed?  i 

The  Stories  of  Alcestis  and  Antigone    .  n 

The  Cup  of  Water 17 

How  one  Man  has  saved  a  Host        .        .  23 

The  Pass  of  Thermopylae 34 

The  Rock  of  the  Capitol     ....  45 

The  Two  Friends  of  Syracuse        ...  58 

The  Devotion  of  the  Decii          ...  63 

Regulus -    .  71 

The  brave  Brethren  of  Judah    ...  78 

The  Chief  of  the  Arverni       ....  88 

Withstanding  the  Monarch  in  his  Wrath  98 
The  Last  Fight  in  the  Colis.eum  .        .        .105 

The  Shepherd  Girl  of  Nanterre       .        .  115 

Leo  the  Slave 121 

The  Battle  of  the  Blackwater.        .        .  135 

Guzman  el  Bueno        ......  142 

Faithful  till  Death 147 


X 


Contents. 


What  is  better  than  Slaying  a  Dragon 

The  Keys  of  Calais 

The  Battle  of  Sempach    . 

The  Constant  Prince     . 

The  Carnival  of  Perth    . 

The  Crown  of  St.  Stephen  . 

George  the  Triller  . 

Sir  Thomas  More's  Daughter 

Under  Ivan  the  Terrible 

Fort  St.  Elmo. 

The  Voluntary  Convict    . 

The  Housewives  of  Lowenburg 

Fathers  and  Sons 

The  Soldiers  in  the  Snow  . 

Gunpowder  Perils 

Heroes  of  the  Plague  . 

The  Second  of  September 

The  Vendeens  .... 

The  Faithful  Slaves  of  Haiti 

The  Petitioners  for  Pardon 

The  Children  of  Blentarn  Ghyll 

Agostina  of  Zaragoza     . 

Casal  Novo 

The  Mad  Dog 

The  Monthyon  Prizes 

The  Loss  of  the  Drake  and  the  Magpie 

The  Fever  at  Osmotherly    . 


Contents.  x[ 

The  Chieftainess  and  the  Volcano       .        .431 

Discipline.        .  ,.,- 
435 

The  Rescuers       ...  AA, 
44i 

The  Rescue  Party ^ 

The    Children    in    the   Wood   of   the   Far 

South 456 


A    BOOK    OF 

GOLDEN    DEEDS. 


WHAT    IS    A   GOLDEN    DEED? 

WE  all  of  us  enjoy  a  story  of  battle  and  adven- 
ture. Some  of  us  delight  in  the  anxiety  and 
excitement  with  which  we  watch  the  various  strange 
predicaments,  hair-breadth  escapes,  and  ingenious 
contrivances  that  are  presented  to  us  ;  and  the  mere 
imaginary  dread  of  the  dangers  thus  depicted  stirs 
our  feelings  and  makes  us  feel  eager  and  full  of  sus- 
pense. 

This  taste,  though  it  is  the  first  step  above  the 
dulness  that  cannot  be  interested  in  anything  be- 
yond its  own  immediate  world,  nor  care  for  what  it 
neither  sees,  touches,  tastes,  nor  puts  to  any  pres- 
ent use,  is  still  the  lowest  form  that  such  a  liking 
can  take.  It  may  be  no  better  than  a  love  of  read- 
ing about  murders  in  the  newspaper,  just  for  the 
sake  of  a  sort  of  startled  sensation  ;  and  it  is  a  taste 
that  becomes  unwholesome  when  it  absolutely  de- 
lights in  dwelling  on  horrors  and  cruelties  for  their 
own  sake  ;  or  upon  shifty,  cunning,  dishonest  strat- 
agems and  devices.  To  learn  to  take  interest  in 
what  is  evil  is  always  mischievous. 


2  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

But  there  is  an  element  in  many  of  such  scenes 
of  woe  and  violence  that  may  well  account  for  our 
interest  in  them.  It  is  that  which  makes  the  eye 
gleam  and  the  heart  throb,  and  bears  us  through 
the  details  of  suffering,  bloodshed,  and  even  bar- 
barity,—  feeling  our  spirits  moved  and  elevated  by 
contemplating  the  courage  and  endurance  that  they 
have  called  forth.  Nay,  such  is  the  charm  of  bril- 
liant valor,  that  we  often  are  tempted  to  forget  the 
injustice  of  the  cause  that  may  have  called  forth  the 
actions  that  delight  us.  And  this  enthusiasm  is 
often  united  with  the  utmost  tenderness  of  heart, 
the  very  appreciation  of  suffering  only  quickening 
the  sense  of  the  heroism  that  risked  the  utmost,  till 
the  young  and  ardent  learn  absolutely  to  look  upon 
danger  as  an  occasion  for  evincing  the  highest  qual- 
ities. 

"  O  Life,  without  thy  checkered  scene 
Of  right  and  wrong,  of  weal  and  woe, 
Success  and  failure,  could  a  ground 
For  magnanimity  be  found  ?  " 

The  true  cause  of  such  enjoyment  is  perhaps  an 
inherent  consciousness  that  there  is  nothing  so  no- 
ble as  forgetfulness  of  self.  Therefore  it  is  that  we 
are  struck  by  hearing  of  the  exposure  of  life  and 
limb  to  the  utmost  peril,  in  oblivion,  or  reckless- 
ness of  personal  safety,  in  comparison  with  a  higher 
object. 

That  object  is  sometimes  unworthy.  In  the  low- 
est form  of  courage  it  is  only  avoidance  of  disgrace  ; 
but  even  fear  of  shame  is  better  than  mere  love  of 
bodily  ease,  and  from  that  lowest  motive  the  scale 
rises  to  the  most  noble  and  precious  actions  of 
which  human  nature  is  capable,  —  the  truly  golden 
and  priceless  deeds  that  are  the  jewels  of  history, 
the  salt  of  life. 

And  it  is  a  chain  of  Golden  Deeds  that  we  seek 


What  is  a  Go  Men  Deed?  3 

to  lay  before  our  readers  ;  but,  ere  entering  upon 
them,  perhaps  we  had  better  clearly  understand  what 
it  is  that  to  our  mind  constitutes  a  Golden  Deed. 

It  is  not  mere  hardihood.  There  was  plenty  of 
hardihood  in  Pizarro  when  he  led  his  men  through 
terrible  hardships  to  attack  the  empire  of  Peru,  but 
he  was  actuated  by  mere  greediness  for  gain,  and 
all  the  perils  he  so  resolutely  endured  could  not 
make  his  courage  admirable.  It  was  nothing  but 
insensibility  to  danger,  when  set  against  the  wealth 
and  power  that  he  coveted,  and  to  which  he  sacri- 
ficed thousands  of  helpless  Peruvians.  Daring  for 
the  sake  of  plunder  has  been  found  in  every  robber, 
every  pirate,  and  too  often  in  all  the  lower  grade  of 
warriors,  from  the  savage  plunderer  of  a  besieged 
town  up  to  the  reckless  monarch  making  war  to 
feed  his  own  ambition. 

There  is  a  courage  that  breaks  out  in  bravado, 
the  exuberance  of  high  spirits,  delighting  in  defying 
peril  for  its  own  sake,  not  indeed  producing  deeds 
which  deserve  to  be  called  golden,  but  which,  from 
their  heedless  grace,  their  desperation,  and  absence 
of  all  base  motives,  —  except  perhaps  vanity,  —  have 
an  undeniable  charm  about  them,  even  when  we 
doubt  the  right  of  exposing  a  life  in  mere  gayety 
of  heart. 

Such  was  the  gallantry  of  the  Spanish  knight  who, 
while  Fernando  and  Isabel  lay  before  the  Moorish 
city  of  Granada,  galloped  out  of  the  camp,  in  full 
view  of  besiegers  and  besieged,  and  fastened  to  the 
gate  of  the  city  with  his  dagger  a  copy  of  the  Ave 
Maria.  It  was  a  wildly  brave  action,  and  yet  not 
without  service  in  showing  the  dauntless  spirit  of 
the  Christian  army.  But  the  same  can  hardly  be 
said  of  the  daring  shown  by  the  Emperor  Maximil- 
ian when  he  displayed  himself  to  the  citizens  of  Ulm 
upon  the  topmost  pinnacle  of  their  cathedral  spire  ; 
or  of  Alonso  de  Ojeda,  who  figured  in  like  manner 


4  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

upon  the  tower  of  the  Spanish  cathedral.  The  same 
daring  afterwards  carried  him  in  the  track  of  Co- 
lumbus, and  there  he  stained  his  name  with  the 
usual  blots  of  rapacity  and  cruelty.  These  deeds, 
if  not  tinsel,  were  little  better  than  gold-leaf. 

A  Golden  Deed  must  be  something  more  than 
mere  display  of  fearlessness.  Grave  and  resolute 
fulfilment  of  duty  is  required  to  give  it  the  true 
weight.  Such  duty  kept  the  sentinel  at  his  post  at 
the  gate  of  Pompeii,  even  when  the  stifling  dust  of 
ashes  came  thicker  and  thicker  from  the  volcano, 
and  the  liquid  mud  streamed  down,  and  the  people 
fled  and  struggled  on,  and  still  the  sentry  stood  at 
his  post,  unflinching,  till  death  had  stiffened  his 
limbs  ;  and  his  bones,  in  their  helmet  and  breast- 
plate, with  the  hand  still  raised  to  keep  the  suffo- 
cating dust  from  mouth  and  nose,  have  remained 
even  till  our  own  times  to  show  how  a  Roman  sol- 
dier did  his  duty-  In  like  manner  the  last  of  the 
old  Spanish  infantry  originally  formed  by  the  Great 
Captain,  Gonzalo  de  Cordova,  were  all  cut  off,  stand- 
ing fast  to  a  man,  at  the  battle  of  Rocroy,  in  1643,. 
not  one  man  breaking  his  rank.  The  whole  regi- 
ment was  found  lying  in  regular  order  upon  the  field 
of  battle,  with  their  colonel,  the  old  Count  de  Fu- 
entes,  at  their  head,  expiring  in  a  chair,  in  which 
he  had  been  carried,  because  he  was  too  infirm  to 
walk,  to  this  his  twentieth  battle.  The  conquerer, 
the  high-spirited  young  Duke  d'Enghien,  afterwards 
Prince  of  Conde,  exclaimed,  "  Were  I  not  a  victor, 
I  should  have  wished  thus  to  die  !  "  and  preserved 
the  chair  among  the  relics  of  the  bravest  of  his  own 
fellow-countrymen. 

Such  obedience  at  all  costs  and  all  risks  is,  how- 
ever, the  very  essence  of  a  soldier's  life.  An  army 
could  not  exist  without  it,  a  ship  could  not  sail  with- 
out it,  and  millions  upon  millions  of  those  whose 
"bones  are  dust  and  good  swords  are  rust"  have 


What  is  a  Golden  Deed?  5 

shown  such  resolution.  It  is  the  solid  material,  but 
it  has  hardly  the  exceptional  brightness,  of  a  Golden 
Deed. 

And  yet  perhaps  it  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
characteristics  of  a  Golden  Deed  that  the  doer  of  it 
is  certain  to  feel  it  merely  a  duty  :  "  I  have  done  that 
which  it  was  my  duty  to  do,"  is  the  natural  answer 
of  those  capable  of  such  actions.  They  have  been 
constrained  to  them  by  duty,  or  by  pity  ;  have 
never  even  deemed  it  possible  to  act  otherwise, 
and  did  not  once  think  of  themselves  in  the  mat- 
ter at  all. 

For  the  true  metal  of  a  Golden  Deed  is  self-devo- 
tion. Selfishness  is  the  dross  and  alloy  that  gives 
the  unsound  ring  to  many  an  act  that  has  been 
called  glorious.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  not 
only  the  valor  which  meets  a  thousand  enemies  upon 
the  battle-field,  or  scales  the  walls  in  a  forlorn  hope, 
that  is  of  true  gold.  It  may  be,  but  often  it  is  mere 
greed  for  fame,  fear  of  shame,  or  lust  of  plunder. 
No,  it  is  the  spirit  that  gives  itself  for  others  —  the 
temper  that,  for  the  sake  of  religion,  of  country,  of 
duty,  of  kindred,  nay,  of  pity  even  to  a  stranger,  will 
dare  all  things,  risk  all  things,  endure  all  things, 
meet  death  in  one  moment,  or  wear  life  away  in 
slow,  persevering  tendance  and  suffering. 

Such  a  spirit  was  shown  by  Leaena,  the  Athenian 
woman,  at  whose  house  the  overthrow  of  the  tyranny 
of  the  Pisistratids  was  concerted,  and  who,  when 
seized  and  put  to  the  torture  that  she  might  disclose 
the  secrets  of  the  conspirators,  fearing  that  the 
weakness  of  her  frame  might  overpower  her  resolu- 
tion, actually  bit  off  her  tongue,  that  she  might 
be  unable  to  betray  the  trust  placed  in  her.  The 
Athenians  commemorated  her  truly  golden  silence 
by  raising  in  her  honor  the  statue  of  a  lioness  with- 
out a  tongue,  in  allusion  to  her  name,  which  signi- 
fies a  lioness. 


6  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Again,  Rome  had  a  tradition  of  a  lady  whose 
mother  was  in  prison  under  sentence  of  death  by 
hunger,  but  who,  at  the  peril  of  her  own  life,  visited 
her  daily  and  fed  her  from  her  own  bosom,  until  even 
the  stern  senate  were  moved  with  pity,  and  granted 
a  pardon.  The  same  story  is  told  of  a  Greek  lady, 
called  Euphrasia,  who  thus  nourished  her  father ; 
and  in  Scotland,  in  140 1,  when  the  unhappy  heir  of 
the  kingdom,  David,  Duke  of  Rothsay,  had  been 
thrown  into  the  dungeon  of  Falkland  Castle  by  his 
barbarous  uncle,  the  Duke  of  Albany,  there  to  be 
starved  to  death,  his  only  helper  was  one  poor  peas- 
ant woman,  who.  undeterred  by  fear  of  the  savage 
men  that  guarded  the  castle,  crept  at  every  safe  op- 
portunity, to  the  grated  window  on  a  level  with  the 
ground,  and  dropped  cakes  through  it  to  the  prison- 
er, while  she  allayed  his  thirst  from  her  own  breast 
through  a  pipe.  Alas  !  the  visits  were  detected, 
and  the  Christian  prince  had  less  mercy  than  the 
heathen  senate.  Another  woman,  in  1450.  when  Sir 
Gilles  of  Brittany  was  savagely  imprisoned  and 
starved  in  much  the  same  manner  by  his  brother, 
Duke  Francois,  sustained  him  for  several  days  by 
bringing  wheat  in  her  veil,  and  dropping  it  through 
the  grated  window,  and  when  poison  had  been  used 
to  hasten  his  death,  she  brought  a  priest  to  the  grat- 
ing to  enable  him  to  make  his  peace  with  Heaven. 
Tender  pity  made  these  women  venture  all  things  ; 
and  surely  their  doings  were  full  of  the  gold  of  love. 

So  again  two  Swiss  lads,  whose  father  was  dan- 
gerously ill.  found  that  they  could  by  no  means  pro- 
cure the  needful  medicine,  except  at  a  price  far  be- 
yond their  means,  and  heard  that  an  English  trav- 
eller had  offered  a  large  price  for  a  couple  of  eaglets. 
The  only  eyrie  was  on  a  crag  supposed  to  be  so  in- 
accessible, that  no  one  ventured  to  attempt  it.  till 
these  boys,  in  their  intense  anxiety  for  their  father, 
dared  the  fearful  danger,  scaled  the  precipice,  cap- 


What  is  a  Golden  Deed?  7 

tured  the  birds,  and  safely  conveyed  them  to  the 
traveller.     Truly  this  was  a  deed  of  gold. 

Such  was  the  action  of  the  Russian  servant  whose 
master's  carriage  was  pursued  by  wolves,  and  who 
sprang  out  among  the  beasts,  sacrificing  his  own 
life  willingly  to  slake  their  fury  for  a  few  minutes  in 
order  that  the  horses  might  be  untouched,  and  con- 
vey his  master  to  a  place  of  safety.  But  his  act  of 
self-devotion  has  been  so  beautifully  expanded  in  the 
story  of  "Eric's  Grave,"  in  "Tales  of  Christian 
Heroism,"  that  we  can  only  hint  at  it,  as  at  that  of 
the  "  Helmsman  of  Lake  Erie,"  who,  with  the 
steamer  on  fire  around  him,  held  fast  by  the  wheel 
in  the  very  jaws  of  the  flame,  so  as  to  guide  the  ves- 
sel into  harbor,  and  save  the  many  lives  within  her, 
at  the  cost  of  his  own  fearful  agony,  while  slowly 
scorched  by  the  flames. 

Memorable,  too,  was  the  compassion  that  kept 
Dr.  Thompson  upon  the  battle-field  of  the  Alma,  all 
alone  throughout  the  night,  striving  to  alleviate  the 
sufferings  and  attend  to  the  wants,  not  of  our  own 
wounded,  but  of  the  enemy,  some  of  whom,  if  they 
were  not  sorely  belied,  had  been  known  to  requite  a 
friendly  act  of  assistance  with  a  pistol-shot.  Thus 
to  remain  in  the  darkness,  on  a  battle-field  in  an  en- 
emy's country,  among  the  enemy  themselves,  all  for 
pity  and  mercy's  sake,  was  one  of  the  noblest  acts 
that  history  can  show.  Yet  it  was  paralleled  in  the 
time  of  the  Indian  Mutiny,  when  every  English 
man  and  woman  was  flying  from  the  rage  of  the  Se- 
poys at  Benares,  and  Dr.  Hay  alone  remained,  be- 
cause he  would  not  desert  the  patients  in  the  hos- 
pital, whose  life  depended  on  his  care  —  many  of 
them  of  those  very  native  corps  who  were  advanc- 
ing to  massacre  him.  This  was  the  Roman  sentry's 
firmness,  more  voluntary  and  more  glorious.  Nor 
may  we  pass  by  her  to  whom  our  title-page  points 
as  our  living  type  of  Golden  Deeds  —  to  her  who 


8  A  Book  of  Golde7i  Deeds. 

first  showed  how  woman's  ministrations  of  mercy 
may  be  carried  on,  not  only  within  the  city,  but  on 
the  borders  of  the  camp  itself —  "the  lady  with  the 
lamp,"  whose  health  and  strength  were  freely  devo- 
ted to  the  holy  work  of  softening  the  after  sufferings 
that  render  war  so  hideous  ;  whose  very  step  and 
shadow  carried  gladness  and  healing  to  the  sick 
soldier,  and  who  has  opened  a  path  of  like  shining 
light  to  many  another  woman  who  only  needed  to 
be  shown  the  way.  Fitly,  indeed,  may  the  figure  of 
Florence  Nightingale  be  shadowed  forth  at  the 
opening  of  our  roll  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Thanks  be  to  God,  there  is  enough  of  His  own 
spirit  of  love  abroad  in  the  earth  to  make  Golden 
Deeds  of  no  such  rare  occurrence,  but  that  they  are 
of  "  all  time."  Even  heathen  days  were  not  without 
them,  and  how  much  more  should  they  not  abound 
after  the  words  have  been  spoken,  'k  Greater  love 
hath  no  man  than  this,  that  he  lay  down  his  life  for 
his  friend,"  and  after  the  one  Great  Deed  has  been 
wrought  that  has  consecrated  all  other  deeds  of  self- 
sacrifice.  Of  martyrdoms  we  have  scarcely  spoken. 
They  were  truly  deeds  of  the  purest  gold  ;  but  they 
are  too  numerous  to  be  dwelt  on  here  ;  and  even  as 
soldiers  deem  it  each  man's  simple  duty  to  face 
death  unhesitatingly,  so  "the  glorious  army  of  mar  - 
tys  "  had,  for  the  most  part,  joined  the  Church  with 
the  expectation  that  they  should  have  to  confess  the 
faith,  and  confront  the  extremity  of  death  and  tor- 
ture for  it. 

What  have  been  here  brought  together  are  chiefly 
cases  of  self-devotion  that  stand  out  remarkably,  ei- 
ther from  their  hopelessness,  their  courage,  or  their 
patience,  varying  with  the  character  of  their  age  ; 
but  with  that  one  essential  distinction  in  all,  that 
the  dross  of  self  was  cast  away. 

Among  these  we  cannot  forbear  mentioning  the 
poor  American   soldier,  who,  grievously  wounded, 


What  is  a  Golden  Deed?  9 

had  just  been  laid  in  the  middle  bed,  by  far  the  most 
comfortable  of  the  three  tier  of  berths  in  the  ship's 
cabin  in  which  the  wounded  were  to  be  conveyed  to 
New  York.  Still  thrilling  with  the  suffering  of  be- 
ing carried  from  the  field,  and  lifted  to  his  place,  he 
saw  a  comrade  in  even  worse  plight  brought  in,  and 
thinking  of  the  pain  it  must  cost  his  fellow-soldier 
to  be  raised  to  the  bed  above  him,  he  surprised  his 
kind  lady  nurses  (daily  scatterers  of  Golden  Deeds) 
by  saying,  "  Put  me  up  there,  I  reckon  I  '11  bear 
hoisting  better  than  he  will." 

And,  even  as  we  write,  we  hear  of  an  American 
railway  collision  that  befell  a  train  on  the  way  to  El- 
mira  with  prisoners.  The  engineer,  whose  name 
was  William  Ingram,  might  have  leapt  off  and  saved 
himself  before  the  shock  ;  but  he  omained  in  order 
to  reverse  the  engine,  though  with  certain  death 
staring  him  in  the  face.  He  was  buried  in  the  wreck 
of  the  meeting  train,  and  when  found,  his  back  was 
against  the  boiler, —  he  was  jammed  in,  unable  to 
move,  and  actually  being  burnt  to  death  ;  but  even 
in  that  extremity  of  anguish  he  called  out  to  those 
who  came  round  to  help  him,  to  keep  away,  as  he 
expected  the  boiler  would  burst.  They  disregarded 
the  generous  cry,  and  used  every  effort  to  extricate 
him,  but  could  not  succeed  until  after  his  sufferings 
had  ended  in  death. 

While  men  and  women  still  exist  who  will  thus 
suffer  and  thus  die,  losing  themselves  in  the  thought 
of  others,  surely  the  many  forms  of  woe  and  misery 
with  whith  this  earth  is  spread,  do  but  give  occa- 
sions of  working  out  some  of  the  highest  and  best 
qualities  of  which  mankind  are  capable.  And  O, 
young  readers,  if  your  hearts  burn  within  you  as 
you  read  of  these  various  forms  of  the  truest  and 
deepest  glory,  and  you  long  for  time  and  place  to 
act  in  the  like  devoted  way,  bethink  yourselves  that 
the  alloy  of  such  actions  is  to  be  constantly  worked 


io  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

away  in  daily  life  ;  and  that  if  ever  it  be  your  lot  to 
do  a  Golden  Deed,  it  will  probably  be  in  uncon- 
sciousness that  you  are  doing  anything  extraordi- 
nary, and  that  the  whole  impulse  will  consist  in  the 
having  absolutely  forgotten  self. 


THE  STORIES  OF  ALCESTIS  AND  ANTIGONE. 

IT  has  been  said,  that  even  the  heathens  saw  and 
knew  the  glory  of  self-devotion  ;  and  the  Greeks 
had  two  early  instances  so  very  beautiful  that,  though 
they  cannot  in  all  particulars  be  true,  they  must  not 
be  passed  over.  There  must  have  been  some  foun- 
dation for  them,  though  we  cannot  now  disentangle 
them  from  the  fable  that  has  adhered  to  them  ;  and, 
at  any  rate,  the  ancient  Greeks  believed  them,  and 
gathered  strength  and  nobleness  from  dwelling  on 
such  examples  ;  since,  as  it  has  been  truly  said, 
"  Every  word,  look,  or  thought  of  sympathy  with 
heroic  action,  helps  to  make  heroism."  Both  tales 
were  represented  before  them  in  their  solemn  relig- 
ious tragedies,  and  the  noble  poetry  in  which  they 
were  recounted  by  the  great  Greek  dramatists  has 
been  preserved  to  our  time. 

Alcestis  was  the  wife  of  Admetus,  King  of  Pherae, 
who,  according  to  the  legend,  was  assured  that  his 
life  might  be  prolonged,  provided  father,  mother,  or 
wife  would  die  in  his  stead.  It  was  Alcestis  alone 
who  was  willing  freely  to  give  her  life  to  save  that 
of  her  husband  ;  and  her  devotion  is  thus  exquisitely 
described  in  the  following  translation,  by  Professor 
Anstice,  from  the  choric  song  in  the  tragedy  by 
Euripides  :  — 

"  Be  patient,  for  thy  tears  are  vain,  — 
They  may  not  wake  the  dead  again  : 


12  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

E'en  heroes,  of  immortal  sire 
And  mortal  mother  born,  expire. 

O,  she  was  dear 

While  she  lingered  here  ; 
She  is  dear  now  she  rests  below, 

And  thou  mayst  boast 

That  the  bride  thou  hast  lost 
Was  the  noblest  earth  can  show. 

"  We  will  not  look  on  her  burial  sod 

As  the  cell  of  sepulchral  sleep, 
It  shall  be  as  the  shrine  of  a  radiant  god, 
And  the  pilgrim  shall  visit  that  blest  abode 

To  worship,  and  not  to  weep  ; 
And  as  he  turns  his  steps  aside, 

Thus  shall  he  breathe  his  vow  : 
'  Here  sleeps  a  self-devoted  bride, 
Of  old  to  save  her  lord  she  died. 

She  is  a  spirit  now. 
Hail,  bright  and  blest  one  !  grant  to  me 
The  smiles  of  glad  prosperity.' 
Thus  shall  he  own  her  name'divine, 
Thus  bend  him  at  Alcestis'  shrine." 

The  story,  however,  bore  that  Hercules,  descend- 
ing in  the  course  of  one  of  his  labors  into  the  realms 
of  the  dead,  rescued  Alcestis,  and  brought  her  back  ; 
and  Euripides  gives  a  scene  in  which  the  rough, 
jovial  Hercules  insists  on  the  sorrowful  Admetus 
marrying  again  a  lady  of  his  own  choice,  and  gives 
the  veiled  Alcestis  back  to  him  as  the  new  bride. 
Later  Greeks  tried  to  explain  the  story  by  saying 
that  Alcestis  nursed  her  husband  through  an  infec- 
tious fever,  caught  it  herself,  and  had  been  supposed 
to  be  dead,  when  a  skilful  physician  restored  her  ; 
but  this  is  probably  only  one  of  the  many  reasonable 
versions  they  tried  to  give  of  the  old  tales  that  were 
founded  on  the  decay  and  revival  of  nature  in  win- 
ter and  spring,  and  with  a  presage  running  through 
them  of  sacrifice,  death,  and  resurrection.     Our  own 


Stories  of  Alcestis  and  Antigone.  13 

poet  Chaucer  was  a  great  admirer  of  Alcestis,  and 
improved  upon  the  legend  by  turning  her  into  his 
favorite  flower :  — 


"  The  daisie  or  els  the  eye  of  the  daie, 
The  emprise  and  the  floure  of  flouris  all." 

Another  Greek  legend  told  of  the  maiden  of 
Thebes,  one  of  the  most  self-devoted  beings  that 
could  be  conceived  by  a  fancy  untrained  in  the 
knowledge  of  Divine  Perfection.  It  cannot  be 
known  how  much  of  her  story  is  true,  but  it  was 
one  that  went  deep  into  the  hearts  of  Grecian  men 
and  women,  and  encouraged  them  in  some  of  their 
best  feelings  ;  and  assuredly  the  deeds  imputed  to 
her  were  golden. 

Antigone  was  the  daughter  of  the  old  King  CEdi- 
pus  of  Thebes.  After  a  time  heavy  troubles,  the 
consequence  of  the  sins  of  his  youth,  came  upon 
him,  and  he  was  driven  away  from  his  kingdom, 
and  sent  to  wander  forth  a  blind  old  man,  scorned 
and  pointed  at  by  all.  Then  it  was  that  his  faithful 
daughter  showed  true  affection  for  him.  She  might 
have  remained  at  Thebes  with  her  brother  Eteocles, 
who  had  been  made  king  in  her  father's  room,  but 
she  chose  instead  to  wander  forth  with  the  forlorn 
old  man,  fallen  from  his  kingly  state,  and  absolutely 
begging  his  bread.  The  great  Athenian  poet  Soph- 
ocles began  his  tragedy  of  "  CEdipus  Coloneus " 
with  showing  the  blind  old  king  leaning  upon  An- 
tigone's arm,  and  asking,  — 

"  Tell  rife,  thou  daughter  of  a  blind  old  man, 
Antigone,  to  what  land  are  we  come, 
Or  to  what  city  ?     Who  the  inhabitants 
Who  with  a  slender  pittance  will  relieve 
Even  for  a  day  the  wandering  CEdipus." 

Potter. 


14  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

The  place  to  which  they  had  come  was  in  Attica, 
near  the  city  of  Colonus.     It  was  a  lovely  grove,  — 


"  All  the  haunts  of  Attic  ground, 
Where  the  matchless  coursers  bound, 
Boast  not,  through  their  realms  of  bliss, 
Other  spot  so  fair  as  this. 
Frequent  down  this  greenwood  dale 
Mourns  the  warbling  nightingale, 
Nestling  'mid  the  thickest  screen 
Of  the  ivy's  darksome  green, 
Or  where  each  empurpled  shoot 
Drooping  with  its  myriad  fruit, 
Curled  in  many  a  mazy  twine, 
Droops  the  never-trodden  vine. 

Anstice. 

This  beautiful  grove  was  sacred  to  the  Eumeni- 
des.  or  avenging  goddesses,  and  it  was  therefore  a 
sanctuary  where  no  foot  .might  tread  ;  but  near  it 
the  exiled  king  was  allowed  to  take  up  his  abode, 
and  was  protected  by  the  great  Athenian  king,  The- 
seus. There  his  other  daughter,  Ismene,  joined 
him,  and,  after  a  time,  his  elder  son,  Polynices,  ar- 
rived. 

Polynices  had  been  expelled  from  Thebes  by  his 
brother  Eteocles.  and  had  been  wandering  through 
Greece  seeking  aid  to  recover  his  rights.  He  had 
collected  an  army,  and  was  come  to  take  leave  of 
his  father  and  sisters  ;  and  at  the  same  time  to  en- 
treat his  sisters  to  take  care  that,  if  he  should  fall  in 
the  battle,  they  would  prevent  his  corpse  from  being 
left  unburied  ;  for  the  Greeks  believed  that  till  the 
funeral  rites  were  performed,  the  spirit  went  wan- 
dering restlessly  up  and  down  upon  the  banks  of  a 
dark  stream,  unable  to  enter  the  home  of  the  dead. 
Antigone  solemnly  promised  to  him  that  he  should 
not  be  left  without  these  last  rites.  Before  long,  old 
(Edipus  was  killed  by  lightning,  and  the  two  sisters 
returned  to  Thebes. 


Stories  of  A  Icestis  and  A  ntigone.  1 5 

The  united  armies  of  the  seven  chiefs  against 
Thebes  came  on,  led  by  Polynices.  Eteocles  sal- 
lied out  to  meet  them,  and  there  was  a  terrible  bat- 
tle, ending  in  all  the  seven  chiefs  being  slain  ;  and 
the  two  brothers,  Eteocles  and  Polynices,  were  killed 
by  one  another  in  single  combat.  Creon,  the  uncle, 
who  thus  became  king,  had  always  been  on  the  side 
of  Eteocles,  and  therefore  commanded  that,  whilst 
this  younger  brother  was  entombed  with  all  due 
solemnities,  the  body  of  the  elder  should  be  left 
upon  the  battle-field  to  be  torn  by  dogs  and  vul- 
tures, and  that  whosoever  durst  bury  it  should  be 
treated  as  a  rebel  and  traitor  to  the  state. 

This  was  the  time  for  the  sister  to  remember  her 
oath  to  her  dead  brother.  The  more  timid  Ismene 
would  have  dissuaded  her,  but  she  answered,  — 

"  To  me  no  sufferings  have  that  hideous  form 
Which  can  affright  me  from  a  glorious  death." 

And  she  crept  forth  by  night,  amid  all  the  horrors  of 
the  deserted  field  of  battle,  and  herself  covered  with 
loose  earth  the  corpse  of  Polynices.  The  barba- 
rous uncle  caused  it  to  be  taken  up  and  again  ex- 
posed, and  a  watch  was  set  at  some  little  distance. 
Again  Antigone 

"  Was  seen,  lamenting  shrill  with  plaintive  notes, 
Like  the  poor  bird  that  sees  her  lonely  nest 
Spoiled  of  her  young." 

Again  she  heaped  dry  dust  with  her  own  hands 
over  the  body,  and  poured  forth  the  libations  of 
wine  that  formed  an  essential  part  of  the  ceremony. 
She  was  seized  by  the  guard,  and  led  before  Creon. 
She  boldly  avowed  her  deed,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
supplications  of  Ismene,  she  was  put  to  death,  a 
sufferer  for  her  noble  and  pious  deeds  ;  and  with 
this  only  comfort :  — 


1 6  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

"  Glowing  at  mv  heart 
I  feel  this  hope,  that  to  my  father,  dear 
And  dear  to  thee,  my  mother   dear  to  thee, 
My  brother,  I  shall  go.'' 

Potter. 

Dim  and  doubtful  indeed  was  the  hope  that  up- 
bore the  grave  and  beautiful  Theban  maiden  ;  and 
we  shall  see  her  resolution  equalled,  though  hardly 
surpassed,  by  Christian  Antigones  of  equal  love  and 
surer  faith. 


THE    CUP    OF   WATER. 

NO  touch  in  the  history  of  the  minstrel-king 
David  gives  us  a  more  warm  and  personal 
feeling  towards  him  than  his  longing  for  the  water 
at  the  well  of  Bethlehem.  Standing  as  the  incident 
does  in  the  summary  of  the  characters  of  his  mighty 
men,  it  is  apt  to  appear  to  us  as  if  it  had  taken  place 
in  his  latter  days  ;  but  such  is  not  the  case,  it  befell 
while  he  was  still  under  thirty,  in  the  time  of  his 
persecution  by  Saul. 

It  was  when  the  last  attempt  at  reconciliation  with 
the  king  had  been  made,  when  the  affectionate  part- 
ing with  the  generous  and  faithful  Jonathan  had 
taken  place,  when  Saul  was  hunting  him  like  a  par- 
tridge on  the  mountains  on  the  one  side,  and  the 
Philistines  had  nearly  taken  his  life  on  the  other, 
that  David,  outlawed,  yet  loyal  at  the  heart,  sent 
his  aged  parents  to  the  land  of  Moab  for  refuge, 
and  himself  took  up  his  abode  in  the  caves  of  the 
wild  limestone  hills  that  had  become  familiar  to 
him  when  he  was  a  shepherd.  Brave  captain  and 
Heaven-destined  king  as  he  was,  his  name  attracted 
round  him  a  motley  group  of  those  that  were  in  dis- 
tress, or  in  debt,  or  discontented,  and  among  them 
were  the  "  mighty  men  "  whose  brave  deeds  won 
them  the  foremost  parts  in  that  army  with  which 
David  was  to  fulfil  the  ancient  promises  to  his  people. 

2 


1 8  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

There  were  his  three  nephews,  Joab,  the  ferocious 
and  imperious,  the  chivalrous  Abishai,  and  Asahel, 
the  fleet  of  foot ;  there  was  the  warlike  Levite  Be- 
naiah  who  slew  lions  and  lionlike  men,  and  others 
who,  like  David  himself,  had  done  battle  with  the 
gigantic  sons  of  Anak.  Yet  even  these  valiant  men, 
so  wild  and  lawless,  could  be  kept  in  check  by  the 
voice  of  their  young  captain  ;  and  outlaws  as  they 
were,  they  spoiled  no  peaceful  villages,  they  lifted 
not  their  hands  against  the  persecuting  monarch, 
and  the  neighboring  farms  lost  not  one  lamb  through 
their  violence.  Some  at  least  listened  to  the  song 
of  their  warlike  minstrel :  — 

"  Come,  ye  children,  and  hearken  to  me, 
I  will  teach  you  the  fear  of  the  Lord. 
What  man  is  he  that  lusteth  to  live, 
And  would  fain  see  good  days  ? 
Let  him  refrain  his  tongue  from  evil 
And  his  lips  that  they  speak  no  guile, 
Let  him  eschew  evil  and  do  good, 
Let  him  seek  peace  and  ensue  it." 

With  such  strains  as  these,  sung  to  his  harp,  the 
warrior  gained  the  hearts  of  his  men  to  enthusias- 
tic love,  and  gathered  followers  on  all  sides,  among 
them  eleven  fierce  men  of  Gad,  with  faces  like  lions 
and  feet  swift  as  roes,  who  swam  the  Jordan  in  time 
of  flood,  and  fought  their  way  to  him,  putting  all 
enemies  in  the  valleys  to  flight. 

But  the  Eastern  sun  burnt  on  the  bare  rocks.  A 
huge  fissure,  opening  in  the  mountain  ridge,  encum- 
bered at  the  bottom  with  broken  rocks,  with  precip- 
itous banks  scarcely  affording  a  footing  for  the  wild 
goats,  —  such  is  the  spot  where,  upon  a  cleft  on  the 
steep  precipice,  still  remain  the  foundations  of  the 
"  hold,"  or  tower,  believed  to  have  been  David's  re- 
treat, and  near  at  hand  is  the  low-browed  entrance 
of  the  galleried  cave,  alternating  between   narrow 


The  Cup  of  Water.  19 

passages  and  spacious  halls,  but  all  oppressively 
hot  and  close.  Waste  and  wild,  without  a  bush  or 
a  tree,  in  the  feverish  atmosphere  of  Palestine,  it 
was  a  desolate  region,  and  at  length  the  wanderer's 
heart  fainted  in  him,  as  he  thought  of  his  own  home, 
with  its  rich  and  lovely  terraced  slopes,  green  with 
wheat,  trellised  with  vines,  and  clouded  with  gray 
olive,  and  of  the  cool  cisterns  of  living  water  by  the 
gate  of  which  he  loved  to  sing  — 

"  He  shall  feed  me  in  a  green  pasture, 
And  lead  me  forth  beside  the  waters  of  comfort. " 

His  parched  longing  lips  gave  utterance  to  the  sigh, 
"  O  that  one  would  give  me  to  drink  of  the  water 
of  the  well  of  Bethlehem  that  is  by  the  gate  !  " 

Three  of  his  brave  men,  apparently  Abisha,  Be- 
naiah,  and  Eleazar,  heard  the  wish.  Between  their 
mountain  fastness  and  the  dearly-loved  spring  lay 
the  host  of  the  Philistines  ;  but  their  love  for  their 
leader  feared  no  enemies.  It  was  not  only  water 
that  he  longed  for,  but  the  water  from  the  fountain 
which  he  had  loved  in  his  childhood.  They  de- 
scended from  their  chasm,  broke  through  the  midst 
of  the  enemy's  army,  and  drew  the  water  from  the 
favorite  spring,  bearing  it  back,  once  again  through 
the  foe,  to  the  tower  upon  the  rock  !  Deeply  moved 
was  their  chief  at  this  act  of  self-devotion,  —  so  much 
moved  that  the  water  seemed  to  him  too  sacred  to 
be  put  to  his  own  use.  "  My  God  forbid  it  me  that 
I  should  do  this  thing.  Shall  I  drink  the  blood  of 
these  men  that  have  put  their  lives  in  jeopardy,  for 
with  the  jeopardy  of  their  lives  they  brought  it?" 
And  as  a  hallowed  and  precious  gift,  he  poured  out 
unto  the  Lord  the  water  obtained  at  the  price  of 
such  peril  to  his  followers. 

In  later  times  we  meet  with  another  hero  who,  by 
his  personal  qualities  inspired  something  of  the  same 


20  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

enthusiastic  attachment  as  did  David,  and  who  met 
with  an  adventure  somewhat  similar,  showing  the 
like  nobleness  of  mind  on  the  part  of  both  leader 
and  followers. 

It  was  Alexander  of  Macedon.  whose  character  as 
a  man.  with  all  its  dark  shades  of  violence,  rage,  and 
profanity,  has  a  nobleness  and  sweetness  that  win 
our  hearts,  while  his  greatness  rests  on  a  far  broader 
basis  than  that  of  his  conquests,  though  they  are 
unrivalled.  No  one  else  so  gained  the  love  of  the 
conquered,  had  such  wide  and  comprehensive  views 
for  the  amelioration  of  the  world,  or  rose  so  superior 
to  the  prejudice  of  race  :  nor  have  any  ten  years  left 
so  lasting  a  trace  upon  the  history  of  the  world  as 
those  of  his  career. 

It  is  not.  however,  of  his  victories  that  we  are 
here  to  speak,  but  of  his  return  march  from  the 
banks  of  the  Indus,  in  b.  c.  326.  when  he  had  newly 
recovered  from  the  severe  wound  which  he  had  re- 
ceived under  the  fig-tree,  within  the  mud  wall  of  the 
city  of  the  Malli.  This  expedition  was  as  much  the 
exploration  of  a  discoverer  as  the  journey  of  a  con- 
queror :  and,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Indus,  he  sent  his 
ships  to  survey  the  coasts  of  the  Indian  Ocean  and 
Persian  Gulf,  while  he  himself  marched  along  the 
shore  of  the  province,  then  called  Gedrosia,  and 
now  Mekhran.  It  was  a  most  dismal  tract.  Above 
towered  mountains  of  reddish-brown  bare  stone, 
treeless  and  without  verdure,  the  scanty  grass  pro- 
duced in  the  summer  being  burnt  up  long  before 
September,  the  month  of  his  march  ;  and  all  the 
slope  below  was  equally  desolate  slopes  of  gravel. 
The  few  inhabitants  were  called  by  the  Greeks  fish- 
eaters  and  turtle-eaters,  because  there  was.  appar- 
ently, nothing  else  to  eat  ;  and  their  huts  were  built 
of  turtle-shells. 

The  recollections  connected  with  the  region  were 
dismal.     Semiramis  and   Cvrus  were   each  said  to 


The  Cup  of  Water.  21 

have  lost  an  army  there  through  hunger  and  thirst ; 
and  these  foes,  the  most  fatal  foes  of  the  invader, 
began  to  attack  the  Greek  host.  Nothing  but  the 
discipline  and  all-pervading  influence  of  Alexander 
could  have  borne  his  army  through.  Speed  was 
their  sole  chance  ;  and  through  the  burning  sun, 
over  the  arid  rock,  he  stimulated  their  steps  with  his 
own  high  spirit  of  unshrinking  endurance,  till  he 
had  dragged  them  through  one  of  the  most  rapid 
and  extraordinary  marches  of  his  wonderful  career. 
His  own  share  in  their  privations  was  fully  and 
freely  taken  ;  and  once  when,  like  the  rest,  he  was 
faint  with  heat  and  deadly  thirst,  a  small  quantity 
of  water,  won  with  great  fatigue  and  difficulty,  was 
brought  to  him,  he  esteemed  it  too  precious  to  be 
applied  to  his  own  refreshment,  but  poured  it  forth 
!as  a  libation,  lest,  he  said,  his  warriors  should  thirst 
the  more  when  they  saw  him  drink  alone  ;  and,  no 
doubt,  too,  because  he  felt  the  exceeding  value  of 
that  which  was  purchased  by  loyal  love. 

A  like  story  is  told  of  Rodolf  of  Hapsburg,  the 
founder  of  the  greatness  of  Austria,  and  one  of  the 
most  open-hearted  of  men.  A  flagon  of  water  was 
brought  to  him  when  his  army  was  suffering  from 
severe  drought.  "  I  cannot,"  he  said,  "  drink  alone, 
nor  can  all  share  so  small  a  quantity.  I  do  not 
thirst  for  myself,  but  for  my  whole  army." 

Yet  there  have  been  thirsty  lips  that  have  made 
a  still  more  trying  renunciation.  Our  own  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  riding  back,  with  the  mortal  hurt  in 
his  broken  thigh,  from  the  fight  at  Zutphen,  and  giv- 
ing the  draught  from  his  own  lips  to  the  dying  man 
whose  necessities  were  greater  than  his  own,  has 
long  been  our  proverb  for  the  giver  of  that  self-de- 
nying cup  of  water  that  shall  by  no  means  lose  its 
reward. 

A  tradition  of  an  act  of  somewhat  the  same  char- 
acter survived  in  a  Slesvig  family,  now  extinct.     It 


22  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

was  during  the  wars  that  raged  from  1652  to  1660, 
between  Frederick  III.  of  Denmark  and  Charles 
Gustavus  of  Sweden,  that,  after  a  battle,  in  which 
the  victory  had  remained  with  the  Danes,  a  stout 
burgher  of  Flensborg  was  about  to  refresh  himself, 
ere  retiring  to  have  his  wounds  dressed,  with  a 
draught  of  beer  from  a  wooden  bottle,  when  an  im- 
ploring cry  from  a  wounded  Swede,  lying  on  the 
held,  made  him  turn,  and  with  the  very  words  of 
Sidney,  "  Thy  need  is  greater  than  mine,"  he  knelt 
down  by  the  fallen  enemy,  to  pour  the  liquor  into 
his  mouth.  His  requital  was  a  pistol-shot  in  the 
shoulder  from  the  treacherous  Swede.  "  Rascal," 
he  cried,  "  I  would  have  befriended  you,  and  you 
would  murder  me  in  return  !  Now  will  I  punish 
you.  I  would  have  given  you  the  whole  bottle  ; 
but  now  you  shall  have  only  half."  And  drinking 
off  half  himself,  he  gave  the  rest  to  the  Swede. 
The  king,  hearing  the  story,  sent  for  the  burgher, 
and  asked  him  how  he  came  to  spare  the  life  of 
such  a  rascal. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  honest  burgher,  "  I  could  never 
kill  a  wounded  enemy." 

"  Thou  meritest  to  be  a  noble,"  the  king  said,  and 
created  him  one  immediately,  giving  him  as  armo- 
rial bearings  a  wooden  bottle  pierced  with  an  arrow  ! 
The  family  only  lately  became  extinct  in  the  person 
of  an  old  maiden  ladv. 


HOW  ONE  MAN  HAS  SAVED  A  HOST. 

B.  C.    507. 

THERE  have  been  times  when  the  devotion  of 
one  man  has  been  the  saving  of  an  army. 
Such,  according  to  old  Roman  story,  was  the  feat 
of  Horatius  Codes.  It  was  in  the  year,  b.  c.  507, 
not  long  after  the  kings  had  been  expelled  from 
Rome,  when  they  were  endeavoring  to  return  by  the 
aid  of  the  Etruscans.  Lars  Porsena,  one  of  the 
great  Etruscan  chieftains,  had  taken  up  the  cause  of 
the  banished  Tarquinius  Superbus  and  his  son  Sex- 
tus,  and  gathered  all  his  forces  together,  to  advance 
upon  the  city  of  Rome.  The  great  walls,  of  old 
Etrurian  architecture,  had  probably  already  risen 
round  the  growing  town,  and  all  the  people  came 
flocking  in  from  the  country  for  shelter  there  ;  but  the 
Tiber  was  the  best  defence,  and  it  was  only  crossed 
by  one  wooden  bridge,  and  the  further  side  of  that 
was  guarded  by  a  fort,  called  the  Janiculum.  But 
the  vanguards  of  the  overwhelming  Etruscan  army 
soon  took  the  fort,  and  then,  in  the  gallant  words  of 
Lord  Macaulay's  ballad,  — 

"  Thus  in  all  the  Senate 

There  was  no  heart  so  bold, 
But  sore  it  ached,  and  fast  it  beat, 

When  that  ill  news  was  told. 
Forthwith  up  rose  the  Consul, 

Up  rose  the  Fathers  all, 


24  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

In  haste  they  girded  up  their  gowns, 
And  hied  them  to  the  wall. 


:  They  held  a  council  standing 

Before  the  River  Gate  : 
Short  time  was  there,  ye  well  may  guess, 

For  musing  or  debate. 
Out  spoke  the  Consul  roundly, 

'  The  bridge  must  straight  go  down, 
For,  since  Janiculum  is  lost, 

Naught  else  can  save  the  town.' 

Just  then  a  scout  came  flying, 

All  wild  with  haste  and  fear  ; 
'To  arms  !  to  arms  !     Sir  Consul, 

Lars  Porsena  is  here.' 
On  the  low  hills  to  westward 

The  Consul  fixed  his  eye, 
And  saw  the  swarthy  storm  of  dust 

Rise  fast  along  the  sky. 


"  But  the  Consul's  brow  was  sad, 

And  the  Consul's  speech  was  low, 
And  darkly  looked  he  at  the  wall, 

And  darkly  at  the  foe. 
'  Their  van  will  be  upon  us 

Before  the  bridge  goes  down  ; 
And  if  they  once  may  win  the  bridge, 

What  hope  to  save  the  town  ? ' 

"  Then  out  spoke  brave  Horatius, 

The  Captain  of  the  Gate, 
'  To  every  man  upon  this  earth 

Death  cometh  soon  or  late  ; 
And  how  can  man  die  better 

Than  facing  fearful  odds, 
For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers, 

And  the  temples  of  his  gods  ? 

"  '  And  for  the  tender  mother 
Who  dandled  him  to  rest, 


How  One  Man  has  saved  a  Host.  25 

And  for  the  wife  who  nurses 

His  baby  at  her  breast  ? 
And  for  the  holy  maidens 

Who  feed  the  eternal  flame, 
To  save  them  from  false  Sextus, 

That  wrought  the  deed  of  shame  ? 

"  '  Hew  down  the  bridge,  Sir  Consul, 

With  all  the  speed  ye  may, 
I,  with  two  more  to  help  me, 

Will  hold  the  foe  in  play. 
In  yon  strait  path  a  thousand 

May  well  be  stopped  by  three  : 
Now  who  will  stand  on  either  hand, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  me  ? ' 

"  Then  out  spake  Spurius  Lartius, 

A  Ramnian  proud  was  he, 
'  Lo,  I  will  stand  at  thy  right  hand, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee. ' 
And  out  spake  strong  Herminius, 

Of  Titian  blood  was  he, 
'  I  will  abide  on  thy  left  side, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee. ' " 

So  forth  went  these  three  brave  men,  Horatius, 
the  Consul's  nephew,  Spurius  Lartius,  and  Titus 
Herminius,  to  guard  the  bridge  at  the  further  end, 
while  all  the  rest  of  the  warriors  were  breaking 
down  the  timbers  behind  them. 

"  And  Fathers,  mixed  with  commons, 
Seized  hatchet,  bar,  and  crow, 
And  smote  upon  the  planks  above, 
And  loosened  them  below. 

"  Meanwhile  the  Tuscan  army, 

Right  glorious  to  behold, 
Came  flashing  back  the  noonday  light, 
Rank  behind  rank,  like  surges  bright, 

Of  a  broad  sea  of  gold. 


26  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Four  hundred  trumpets  sounded 

A  peal  of  warlike  glee, 
As  that  great  host,  with  measured  tread, 
And  spears  advanced,  and  ensigns  spread 
Rolled  slowly  towards  the  bridge's  head, 

Where  stood  the  dauntless  three. 

"  The  three  stood  calm  and  silent, 
And  looked  upon  the  foes, 
And  a  great  shout  of  laughter 
From  all  the  vanguard  rose." 

They  laughed  to  see  three  men  standing  to  meet 
the  whole  army ;  but  it  was  so  narrow  a  space,  that 
no  more  than  three  enemies  could  attack  them  at 
once,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  match  them.  Foe  after 
foe  came  forth  against  them,  and  went  down  before 
their  swords  and  spears,  till  at  last  — 

"  Was  none  that  would  be  foremost 
To  lead  such  dire  attack  ; 
But  those  behind  cried  '  Forward  ! ' 
.     And  those  before  cried  '  Back  ! '  " 


However,  the  supports  of  the  bridge  had  been 
destroyed. 

"  But  meanwhile  axe  and  lever 
Have  manfully  been  plied, 
And  now  the  bridge  hangs  tottering 

Above  the  boiling  tide. 
'  Come  back,  come  back,  Horatius  ! ' 

Loud  cried  the  Fathers  all  ; 
'  Back,  Lartius  !  back,  Herminius  ! 
Back,  ere  the  ruin  fall  !  ' 

"  Back  darted  Spurius  Lartius, 
Herminius  darted  back  ; 
And  as  they  passed,  beneath  their  feet, 
Thev  felt  the  timbers  crack  ; 


How  One  Man  has  saved  a  Host.  27 

But  when  they  turned  their  faces, 

And  on  the  farther  shore 
Saw  brave  Horatius  stand  alone, 

They  would  have  crossed  once  more. 

"  But  with  a  crash  like  thunder 

Fell  every  loosened  beam, 
And,  like  a  dam,  the  mighty  wreck 

Lay  right  athwart  the  stream  ;  - 
And  a  long  shout  of  triumph 

Rose  from  the  walls  of  Rome, 
As  to  the  highest  turret-tops 

Was  splashed  the  yellow  foam." 

The  one  last  champion,  behind  a  rampart  of  dead 
enemies,  remained  till  the  destruction  was  complete. 

"  Alone  stood  brave  Horatius, 
But  constant  still  in  mind, 
Thrice  thirty  thousand  foes  before 
And  the  broad  flood  behind." 

A  dart  had  put  out  one  eye,  he  was  wounded  in 
the  thigh,  and  his  work  was  done.  He  turned 
round,  and  — 

"  Saw  on  Palatums, 
The  white  porch  of  his  home, 
And  he  spake  to  the  noble  river 

That  rolls  by  the  walls  of  Rome  ; 
'  O  Tiber  !  father  Tiber  ! 

To  whom  the  Romans  pray, 
A  Roman's  life,  a  Roman's  arms, 
Take  thou  in  charge  this  day.'  " 

And  with  this  brief  prayer  he  leapt  into  the  foam- 
ing stream.  Polybius  was  told  that  he  was  there 
drowned  ;  but  Livy  gives  the  version  which  the  bal- 
lad follows  :  — 

"  But  fiercely  ran  the  current, 

Swollen  high  by  months  of  rain, 


28  A  Book  of  Golde?i  Deeds. 

And  fast  his  blood  was  flowing, 
And  he  was  sore  in  pain, 

And  heavy  with  his  armor, 

And  spent  with  changing  blows, 

And  oft  they  thought  him  sinking, 
But  still  again  he  rose. 

"  Never,  I  ween,  did  swimmer, 

In  such  an  evil  case, 
Struggle  through  such  a  raging  flood 

Safe  to  the  landing-place. 
But  his  limbs  were  borne  up  bravely 

By  the  brave  heart  within, 
And  our  good  father  Tiber 

Bare  bravely  up  his  chin. 


;  And  now  he  feels  the  bottom, 

Now  on  dry  earth  he  stands, 
Now  round  him  throng  the  Fathers, 

To  press  his  gory  hands. 
And  now  with  shouts  and  clapping, 

And  noise  of  weeping  loud, 
He  enters  through  the  River  Gate, 

Borne  by  the  joyous  crowd. 

;  They  gave  him  of  the  corn-land, 

That  was  of  public  right, 
As  much  as  two  strong  oxen 

Could  plough  from  morn  to  night. 
And  they  made  a  molten  image, 

And  set  it  up  on  high, 
And  there  it  stands  unto  this  day, 

To  witness  if  I  lie. 

It  stands  in  the  Comitium, 

Plain  for  all  folk  to  see, 
Horatius  in  his  harness, 

Halting  upon  his  knee  : 
And  underneath  is  written, 

In  letters  all  of  gold, 
How  valiantly  he  kept  the  bridge 

In  the  brave  davs  of  old." 


How  One  Man  has  saved  a  Host.  29 

Never  was  more  honorable  surname  than  was  his, 
of  Cocles,  or  the  one-eyed  ;  and  though  his  lameness 
prevented  him  from  ever  being  a  Consul,  or  leading 
an  army,  he  was  so  much  beloved  and  honored  by 
his  fellow-citizens,  that  in  the  time  of  a  famine  each 
Roman,  to  the  number  of  300,000,  brought  him  a 
day's  food,  lest  he  should  suffer  want.  The  statue 
was  shown  even  in  the  time  of  Pliny,  600  years 
afterwards,  and  was  probably  only  destroyed  when 
Rome  was  sacked  by  the  barbarians. 

Nor  was  the  Roman  bridge  the  only  one  that  has 
been  defended  by  one  man  against  a  host.  In  our 
own  country,  Stamford  bridge  was,  in  like  manner, 
guarded  by  a  single  brave  Northman,  after  the  bat- 
tle fought  A.u.  1066,  when  Earl  Tostig,  the  son  of 
Godwin,  had  persuaded  the  gallant  sea-king,  Harald 
Hardrada,  to  come  and  invade  England.  The  chosen 
English  king,  Harold,  had  marched  at  full  speed  from 
Sussex  to  Yorkshire,  and  met  the  invaders  march- 
ing at  their  ease,  without  expecting  any  enemy,  and 
wearing  no  defensive  armor,  as  they  went  forth  to  re- 
ceive the  keys  of  the  city  of  York.  The  battle  was 
fought  by  the  Norsemen  in  the  full  certainty  that 
it  must  be  lost.  The  banner,  "  Landwaster,"  was 
planted  in  the  midst ;  and  the  king,  chanting  his  last 
song,  like  the  minstrel  warrior  he  had  always  been, 
stood,  with  his  bravest  men,  in  a  death-ring  around 
it.  There  he  died,  and  his  choicest  warriors  with 
him  ;  but  many  more  fled  back  towards  the  ships, 
rushing  over  the  few  planks  that  were  the  only  way 
across  the  river  Ouse.  And  here  stood  their  defend- 
er, alone  upon  the  bridge,  keeping  back  the  whole 
pursuing  English  army,  who  could  only  attack  him 
one  at  a  time  ;  until,  with  shame  be  it  spoken,  he 
died  by  a  cowardly  blow  from  an  enemy,  who  had 
crept  down  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  under  the 
bridge,  through  the  openings  between  the  timbers 
of  which  he  thrust  up  his  spear,  and  thus  was  able 


30  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds.    , 

to  hurl  the  brave  Northman  into  the  river,  mortally 
wounded,  but  not  till  great  numbers  of  his  country- 
men had  reached  their  ships,  their  lives  saved  by 
his  gallantry. 

In  like  manner,  Robert  Bruce,  in  the  time  of  his 
wanderings,  during  the  year  1306,  saved  his  whole 
band  by  his  sole  exertions.  He  had  been  defeated 
by  the  forces  of  Edward  I.  at  Methven,  and  had  lost 
many  of  his  friends.  His  little  army  went  wander- 
ing among  ,the  hills,  sometimes  encamping  in  the 
woods,  sometimes  crossing  the  lakes  in  small  boats. 
Many  ladies  were  among  them,  and  their  summer 
life  had  some  wild  charms  of  romance ;  as  the 
knightly  huntsmen  brought  in  the  salmon,  the  roe, 
and  the  deer  that  formed  their  food,  and  the  ladies 
gathered  the  flowering  heather,  over  which  soft  skins 
were  laid  for  their  bedding.  Sir  James  Douglas  was 
the  most  courtly  and  graceful  knight  of  all  the  party, 
and  ever  kept  them  enlivened  by  his  gay  temper  and 
ready  wit  ;  and  the  king  himself  cherished  a  few 
precious  romances,  which  he  used  to  read  aloud  to 
his  followers  as  they  rested  in  their  mountain  home. 

But  their  bitter  foe,  the  Lord  of  Lorn,  was  al- 
ways in  pursuit  of  them,  and,  near  the  head  of  the 
Tay,  he  came  upon  the  small  army  of  300  men  with 
1000  Highlanders,  armed  with  Lochaber  axes,  at  a 
place  which  is  still  called  Dairy,  or  the  King's  Field. 
Many  of  the  horses  were  killed  by  the  axes  ;  and 
James  Douglas  and  Gilbert  de  la  Have  were  both 
wounded.  All  would  have  been  slain  or  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy,  if  Robert  Bruce  had  not 
sent  them  all  on  before  him,  up  a  narrow,  steep  path, 
and  placed  himself,  with  his  armor  and  heavy  horse, 
full  in  the  path,  protecting  the  retreat  with  his  sin- 
gle arm.  It  was  true,  that  so  tall  and  powerful  a 
man,  sheathed  in  armor  and  on  horseback,  had  a 
great  advantage  against  the  wild  Highlanders,  who 
only  wore  a  shirt  and  a  plaid,  with  a  round  target 


How  One  Man  has  saved  a  Host.  31 

upon  the  arm  ;  but  they  were  lithe,  active,  light- 
footed  men,  able  to  climb  like  goats  on  the  crags 
around  him,  and  holding  their  lives  as  cheaply  as 
he  did. 

Lorn,  watching  him  from  a  distance,  was  struck 
with  amazement,  and  exclaimed,  "  Methinks,  Mar- 
thokson,  he  resembles  Gol  Mak  Morn  protecting 
his  followers  from  Fingal "  ;  thus  comparing  him  to 
one  of  the  most  brilliant  champions  a  Highland  im- 
agination could  conceive.  At  last  three  men,  named 
M'Androsser,  rushed  forward,  resolved  to  free  their 
chief  from  this  formidable  enemy.  There  was  a  lake 
on  one  side,  and  a  precipice  on  the  other,  and  the 
king  had  hardly  space  to  manage  his  horse,  when 
all  three  sprang  on  him  at  once.  One  snatched  his 
bridle,  one  caught  him  by  the  stirrup  and  leg,  and  a 
third  leaped  from  a  rising  ground  and  seated  him- 
self behind  him  on  his  horse.  The  first  lost  his 
arm  by  one  sweep  of  the  king's  sword  ;  the  second 
was  overthrown  and  trampled  on  ;  and  the  last,  by 
a  desperate  struggle,  was  dashed  down,  and  his  skull 
cleft  by  the  king's  sword  ;  but  his  dying  grasp  was 
so  tight  upon  the  plaid,  that  Bruce  was  forced  to  un- 
clasp the  brooch  that  secured  it,  and  leave  both  in 
the  dead  man's  hold.  It  was  long  preserved  by  the 
Macdougals  of  Lorn,  as  a  trophy  of  the  narrow  es- 
cape of  their  enemy. 

Nor  must  we  leave  Robert  the  Bruce  without 
mentioning  that  other  Golden  Deed,  more  truly  no- 
ble because  more  full  of  mercy  ;  namely,  his  halting 
his  little  army  in  full  retreat  in  Ireland  in  the  face 
of  the  English  host  under  Roger  Mortimer,  that 
proper  care  and  attendance  might  be  given  to  one 
sick  and  suffering  washerwoman  and  her  new-born 
babe.  Well  may  his  old  Scotch  rhyming  chroni- 
cler remark  :  — 

"  This  was  a  full  great  courtesy 
That  swilk  a  king  and  so  mighty, 


32  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Gert  his  men  dwell  on  this  manner, 
But  for  a  poor  lavender." 

We  have  seen  how  the  sturdy  Roman  fought  for 
his  city,  the  fierce  Northman  died  to  guard  his  com- 
rades' rush  to  their  ships  after  the  lost  battle,  and 
how  the  mail-clad  knightly  Bruce  perilled  himself  to 
secure  the  retreat  of  his  friends.  Here  is  one  more 
instance,  from  far  more  modern  times,  of  a  soldier, 
whose  willing  sacrifice  of  his  own  life  was  the  safety 
of  a  whole  army.  It  was  in  the  course  of  the  long 
dismal  conflict  between  Frederick  the  Great  of  Prus- 
sia and  Maria  Theresa  of  Austria,  which  was  called 
the  Seven  Years  War.  Louis  XV.  of  France  had 
taken  the  part  of  Austria,  and  had  sent  an  army  in- 
to Germany  in  the  autumn  of  1760.  From  this  the 
Marquis  de  Castries  had  been  despatched,  with 
25,000  men.  towards  Rheinberg,  and  had  taken  up 
a  strong  position  at  Kldstercamp.  On  the  night  of 
the  15th  of  October,  a  young  officer,  called  the 
Chevalier  d'Assas.  of  the  Auvergne  regiment,  was 
sent  out  to  reconnoitre,  and  advanced  aione  into  a 
wood,  at  some  little  distance  from  his  men.  Sud- 
denly he  found  himself  surrounded  by  a  number  of 
soldiers,  whose  bayonets  pricked  his  breast,  and  a 
voice  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Make  the  slightest 
noise,  and  you  are  a  dead  man  !  "  In  one  moment 
he  understood  it  all.  The  enemy  were  advancing, 
to  surprise  the  French  army,  and  would  be  upon 
them  when  night  was  farther  advanced.  That  mo- 
ment decided  his  fate.  He  shouted,  as  loud  as  his 
voice  would  carry  the  words,  "  Here,  Auvergne  ! 
Here  are  the  enemy  !  "  By  the  time  the  cry  reached 
the  ears  of  his  men,  their  captain  was  a  senseless 
corpse  ;  but  his  death  had  saved  the  army  ;  the  sur- 
prise had  failed,  and  the  enemy  retreated. 

Louis  XV.  was  too  mean-spirited  and  selfish  to 
feel  the  beautv  of  this  brave  action  ;  but  when,  four- 


How  One  Man  has  saved  a  Host.  33 

teen  years  later,  Louis  XVI.  came  to  the  throne,  he 
decreed  that  a  pension  should  be  given  to  the  fami- 
ly as  long  as  a  male  representative  remained  to  bear 
the  name  of  D'Assas.  Poor  Louis  XVI.  had  not 
long  the  control  of  the  treasure  of  France  ;  but  a 
century  of  changes,  wars,  and  revolutions  has  not 
blotted  out  the  memory  of  the  self-devotion  of  the 
chevalier ;  for,  among  the  new  war-steamers  of  the 
French  fleet,  there  is  one  that  bears  the  ever-hon- 
ored name  of  D'Assas. 


THE   PASS    OF   THERMOPYLAE. 

b.  c.  430. 

THERE  was  trembling  in  Greece.  "The  Great 
King,"  as  the  Greeks  called  the  chief  potentate 
of  the  East,  whose  domains  stretched  from  the  In- 
dian Caucasus  to  the  JEgseus,  from  the  Caspian  to 
the  Red  Sea,  was  marshalling  his  forces  against  the 
little  free  states  that  nestled  amid  the  rocks  and 
gulfs  of  the  Eastern  Mediterranean.  Already  had 
his  might  devoured  the  cherished  colonies  of  the 
Greeks  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  Archipelago,  and 
every  traitor  to  home  institutions  found  a  ready  asy- 
lum at  that  despotic  court,  and  tried  to  revenge  his 
own  wrongs  by  whispering  incitements  to  invasion. 
"'All  people,  nations,  and  languages,"  was  the  com- 
mencement of  the  decrees  of  that  monarch's  court ; 
and  it  was  scarcely  a  vain  boast,  for  his  satraps 
ruled  over  subject  kingdoms,  and  among  his  tribu- 
tary nations  he  counted  the  Chaldean,  with  his 
learning  and  old  civilization,  the  wise  and  steadfast 
Jew,  the  skilful  Phoenician,  the  learned  Egyptian, 
the  wild,  freebooting  Arab  of  the  desert,  the  dark- 
skinned  Ethiopian,  and  over  all  these  ruled  the  keen- 
witted, active  native  Persian  race,  the  conquerors 
of  all  the  rest,  and  led  by  a  chosen  band  proudly 
called  the  Immortal.  His  many  capitals  —  Babylon 
the  Great,  Susa,  Persepolis,  and  the  like  —  were 
names  of  dreamy  splendor  to  the  Greeks,  described 


The  Pass  of  Thermopyla.  35 

now  and  then  by  Ionians  from  Asia  Minor  who  had 
carried  their  tribute  to  the  king's  own  feet,  or  by- 
courtier  slaves  who  had  escaped  with  difficulty  from 
being  all  too  serviceable  at  the  tyrannic  court. 
And  the  lord  of  this  enormous  empire  was  about  to 
launch  his  countless  host  against  the  little  cluster  of 
states,  the  whole  of  which  together  would  hardly 
equal  one  province  of  the  huge  Asiatic  realm ! 
Moreover,  it  was  a  war  not  only  on  the  men  but  on 
their  gods.  The  Persians  were  zealous  adorers  of 
the  sun  and  of  fire  ;  they  abhorred  the  idol- worship 
of  the  Greeks,  and  defiled  and  plundered  every  tem- 
ple that  fell  in  their  way.  Death  and  desolation  were 
almost  the  best  that  could  be  looked  for  at  such 
hands,  —  slavery  and  torture  from  cruelly  barbarous 
masters  would  only  too  surely  be  the  lot  of  num- 
bers, should  their  land  fall  a  prey  to  the  conquerors. 

True  it  was  that  ten  years  back  the  former  Great 
King  had  sent  his  best  troops  to  be  signally  defeat- 
ed upon  the  coast  of  Attica  ;  but  the  losses  at  Mar- 
athon had  but  stimulated  the  Persian  lust  of  con- 
quest, and  the  new  King  Xerxes  was  gathering  to- 
gether such  myriads  of  men  as  should  crush  down 
the  Greeks  and  overrun  their  country  by  mere  force 
of  numbers. 

The  muster  place  was  at  Sardis,  and  there  Greek 
spies  had  seen  the  multitudes  assembling  and  the 
state  and  magnificence  of  the  king's  attendants.  En- 
voys had  come  from  him  to  demand  earth  and  water 
from  each  state  in  Greece,  as  emblems  that  land  and 
sea  were  his ;  but  each  state  was  resolved  to  be  free, 
and  only  Thessaly,  that  which  lay  first  in  his  path, 
consented  to  yield  the  token  of  subjugation.  A 
council  was  held  at  the  Isthmus  of  Corinth,  and  at- 
tended by  deputies  from  all  the  states  of  Greece  to 
consider  of  the  best  means  of  defence.  The  ships 
of  the  enemy  would  coast  round  the  shores  of  the 
ALgean  Sea,  the  land  army  would  cross  the  Helles- 


36  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

pont  on  a  bridge  of  boats  lashed  together,  and 
march  southwards  into  Greece.  The  only  hope  of 
averting  the  danger  lay  in  defending  such  passages 
as,  from  the  nature  of  the  ground,  were  so  narrow 
that  only  a  few  persons  could  fight  hand  to  hand  at 
once,  so  that  courage  would  be  of  more  avail  than 
numbers. 

The  first  of  these  passes  was  called  Tempe,  and 
a  body  of  troops  was  sent  to  guard  it ;  but  they 
found  that  this  was  useless  and  impossible,  and 
came  back  again.  The  next  was  at  Thermopylae. 
Look  in  your  map  of  the  Archipelago,  or  /Egean 
Sea,  as  it  was  then  called,  for  the  great  island  of 
Negropont,  or  by  its  old  name,  Eubcea.  It  looks 
like  a  piece  broken  off  from  the  coast,  and  to  the 
north  is  shaped  like  the  head  of  a  bird,  with  the 
beak  running  into  a  gulf,  that  would  fit  over  it.  upon 
the  main  land,  and  between  the  island  and  the  coast 
is  an  exceedingly  narrow  strait.  The  Persian  army 
would  have  to  march  round  the  edge  of  the  gulf. 
They  could  not  cut  straight  across  the  country,  be- 
cause the  ridge  of  mountains  called  (Eta  rose  up 
and  barred  their  way.  Indeed,  the  woods,  rocks, 
and  precipices  came  down  so  near  the  sea-shore, 
that  in  two  places  there  was  only  room  for  one  sin- 
gle wheel  track  between  the  steeps  and  the  impas- . 
sable  morass  that  formed  the  border  of  the  gulf  on 
its  south  side.  These  two  very  narrow  places  were 
called-the  gates  of  the  pass,  and  were  about  a  mile 
apart.  There  was  a  little  more  width  left  in  the  in- 
tervening space  ;  but  in  this  there  were  a  number 
of  springs  of  warm  mineral  water,  salt  and  sulphur- 
ous, which  were  used  for  the  sick  to  bathe  in,  and 
thus  the  place  was  called  Thermopylae,  or  the  Hot 
Gates.  A  wall  had  once  been  built  across  the  west- 
ernmost of  these  narrow  places,  when  the  Thessa- 
lians  and  Phocians.  who  lived  on  either  side  of  it, 
had  been  at  war  with  one  another  ;  but  it  had  been 


The  Pass  of  Thermoftylce.  37 

allowed  to  go  to  decay,  since  the  Phocians  had 
found  out  that  there  was  a  very  steep  narrow  moun- 
tain path  along  the  bed  of  a  torrent,  by  which  it  was 
possible  to  cross  from  one  territory  to  the  other 
without  going  round  this  marshy  coast  road. 

This  was,  therefore,  an  excellent  place  to  defend. 
The  Greek  ships  were  all  drawn  up  on  the  farther 
side  of  Euboea  to  prevent  the  Persian  vessels  from 
getting  into  the  strait  and  landing  men  beyond  the 
pass,  and  a  division  of  the  army  was  sent  off  to 
guard  the  Hot  Gates.  The  council  at  the  Isthmus 
did  not  know  of  the  mountain  pathway,  and  thought 
that  all  would  be  safe  as  long  as  the  Persians  were 
kept  out  of  the  coast  path. 

The  troops  sent  for  this  purpose  were  from  differ- 
ent cities,  and  amounted  to  about  four  thousand, 
who  were  to  keep  the  pass  against  two  millions. 
The  leader  of  them  was  Leonidas,  who  had  newly 
become  one  of  the  two  kings  of  Sparta,  the  city  that 
above  all  in  Greece  trained  its  sons  to  be  hardy 
soldiers,  dreading  death  infinitely  less  than  shame. 
Leonidas  had  already  made  up  his  mind  that  the 
expedition  would  probably  be  his  death,  perhaps  be- 
cause a  prophecy  had  been  given  at  the  Temple  at 
Delphi  that  Sparta  should  be  saved  by  the  death  of 
one  of  her  kings  of  the  race  of  Hercules.  He  was 
allowed  by  law  to  take  with  him  three  hundred  men, 
and  these  he  chose  most  carefully,  not  merely  for 
their  strength  and  courage,  but  selecting  those  who 
had  sons,  so  that  no  family  might  be  altogether 
destroyed.  These  Spartans,  with  their  helots  or 
slaves,  made  up  his  own  share  of  the  numbers,  but 
all  the  army  was  under  his  generalship.  It  is  even 
said  that  the  three  hundred  celebrated  their  own  fu- 
neral rites  before  they  set  out,  lest  they  should  be 
deprived  of  them  by  the  enemy,  since,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  it  was  the  Greek  belief  that  the  spirits 
of  the  dead  found  no  rest  till  their  obsequies  had 


38  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

been  performed.  Such  preparations  did  not  daunt 
the  spirits  of  Leonidas  and  his  men,  and  his  wife, 
Gorgo,  was  not  a  woman  to  be  faint-hearted  or  hold 
him  back.  Long  before,  when  she  was  a  very  little 
girl,  a  word  of  hers  had  saved  her  father  from  listen- 
ing to  a  traitorous  message  from  the  King  of  Per- 
sia ;  and  every  Spartan  lady  was  bred  up  to  be 
able  to  say  to  those  she  best  loved  that  they  must 
come  home  to  battle  "with  the  shield  or  on  it  "  — 
either  carrying  it  victoriously  or  borne  upon  it  as  a 
corpse. 

When  Leonidas  came  to  Thermopylae,  the  Pho- 
cians  told  him  of  the  mountain  path  through  the 
chestnut  woods  of  Mount  (Eta,  and  begged  to  have 
the  privilege  of  guarding  it  on  a  spot  high  up  on  the 
mountain  side,  assuring  him  that  it  was  very  hard 
to  find  at  the  other  end,  and  that  there  was  every 
probability  that  the  enemy  would  never  discover  it. 
He  consented,  and  encamping  around  the  warm 
springs,  caused  the  broken  wall  to  be  repaired,  and 
made  ready  to  meet  the  foe. 

The  Persian  army  were  seen  covering  the  whole 
country  like  locusts,  and  the  hearts  of  some  of  the 
southern  Greeks  in  the  pass  began  to  sink.  Their 
homes  in  the  Peloponnesus  were  comparatively  se- 
cure, —  had  they  not  better  fall  back  and  reserve 
themselves  to  defend  the  Isthmus  of  Corinth  ?  But 
Leonidas,  though  Sparta  was  safe  below  the  Isth- 
mus, had  no  intention  of  abandoning  his  northern 
allies,  and  kept  the  other  Peloponnesians  to  their 
posts,  only  sending  messengers  for  further  help. 

Presently  a  Persian  on  horseback  rode  up  to  re- 
connoitre the  pass.  He  could  not  see  over  the  wall, 
but  in  front  of  it  and  on  the  ramparts,  he  saw  the 
Spartans,  some  of  them  engaged  in  active  sports, 
and  others  in  combing  their  long  hair.  He  rode 
back  to  the  king,  and  told  him  what  he  had  seen. 
Now,  Xerxes  had  in  his  camp  an  exiled  Spartan 


The  Pass  of  Thermopyltz.  39 

Prince,  named  Damaratus,  who  had  become  a  trai- 
tor to  his  country,  and  was  serving  as  counsellor  to 
the  enemy.  Xerxes  sent  for  him,  and  asked  whether 
his  countrymen  were  mad  to  be  thus  employed  in- 
stead of  fleeing  away  ;  but  Demaratus  made  answer 
that  a  hard  fight  was  no  doubt  in  preparation,  and  that 
it  was  the  custom  of  the  Spartans  to  array  their  hair 
with  especial  care  when  they  were  about  to  enter 
upon  any  great  peril.  Xerxes  would,  however,  not 
believe  that  so  petty  a  force  could  intend  to  resist 
him,  and  waited  four  days,  probably  expecting  his 
fleet  to  assist  him,  but  as  it  did  not  appear,  the  at- 
tack was  made. 

The  Greeks,  stronger  men  and  more  heavily 
armed,  were  far  better  able  to  fight  to  advantage 
than  the  Persians  with  their  short  spears  and  wicker 
shields,  and  beat  them  off  with  great  ease.  It  is 
said  that  Xerxes  three  times  leapt  off  his  throne  in 
despair  at  the  sight  of  his  troops  being  driven  back- 
wards ;  and  thus  for  two  days  it  seemed  as  easy  to 
force  a  way  through  the  Spartans  as  through  the 
rocks  themselves.  Nay,  how  could  slavish  troops, 
dragged  from  home  to  spread  the  victories  of  an  am- 
bitious king,  fight  like  freemen  who  felt  that  their 
strokes  were  to  defend  their  homes  and  children  ? 

But  on  that  evening  a  wretched  man,  named 
Ephialtes,  crept  into  the  Persian  camp,  and  offered, 
for  a  great  sum  of  money,  to  show  the  mountain 
path  that  would  enable  the  enemy  to  take  the  brave 
defenders  in  the  rear  !  A  Persian  general,  named 
Hydarnes,  was  sent  off  at  nightfall  with  a  detach- 
ment to  secure  this  passage,  and  was  guided  through 
the  thick  forests  that  clothed  the  hillside.  In  the 
stillness  of  the  air,  at  daybreak,  the  Phocian  guards 
of  the  path  were  startled  by  the  crackling  of  the 
chestnut  leaves  under  the  tread  of  many  feet.  They 
started  up,  but  a  shower  of  arrows  was  discharged 
on  them,  and  forgetting  all  save  the  present  alarm, 


4o  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

they  fled  to  a  higher  part  of  the  mountain,  and  the 
enemy,  without  waiting  to  pursue  them,  began  to 
descend. 

As  day  dawned,  morning  light  showed  the  watch- 
ers of  the  Grecian  camp  below  a  glittering  and  shim- 
mering in  the  torrent  bed  where  the  shaggy  forests 
opened  ;  but  it  was  not  the  sparkle  of  water,  but  the 
shine  of  gilded  helmets  and  the  gleaming  of  silvered 
spears  !  Moreover,  a  Cimmerian  crept  over  to  the 
wall  from  the  Persian  camp  with  tidings  that  the 
path  had  been  betrayed,  that  the  enemy  were  climb- 
ing it,  and  would  come  down  beyond  the  Eastern 
Gate.  Still,  the  way  was  rugged  and  circuitous, 
the  Persians  would  hardly  descend  before  mid-day, 
and  there  was  ample  time  for  the  Greeks  to  escape 
before  they  could  thus  be  shut  in  by  the  enemy. 

There  was  a  short  council  held  over  the  morning 
sacrifice.  Megistias.  the  seer,  on  inspecting  the  en- 
trails of  the  slain  victim,  declared,  as  well  he  might, 
that  their  appearance  boded  disaster.  Him  Leoni- 
das  ordered  to  retire,  but  he  refused,  though  he  sent 
home  his  only  son.  There  was  no  disgrace  to  an 
ordinary  tone  of  mind  in  leaving  a  post  that  could 
not  be  held,  and  Leonidas  recommended  all  the  al- 
lied troops  under  his  command  to  march  away  while 
yet  the  way  was  open.  As  to  himself  and  his  Spar- 
tans, they  had  made  up  their  minds  to  die  at  their 
post,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  example 
of  such  a  resolution  would  do  more  to  save  Greece 
than  their  best  efforts  could  ever  do  if  they  were 
careful  to  reserve  themselves  for  another  occasion. 

All  the  allies  consented  to  retreat,  .except  the 
eighty  men  who  came  from  Mycaene  and  the  700 
Thespians,  who  declared  that  they  would  not  de- 
sert Leonidas.  There  were  also  400  Thebans  who 
remained  ;  and  thus  the  whole  number  that  stayed 
with  Leonidas  to  confront  two  millions  of  enemies 
were  fourteen  hundred  warriors,  besides  the  helots 


The  Pass  of  Thei'mopylce.  41 

or  attendants  on  the  300  Spartans,  whose  number 
is  not  known,  but  there  was  probably  at  least  one 
to  each.  Leonidas  had  two  kinsmen  in  the  camp, 
like  himself,  claiming  the  blood  of  Hercules,  and  he 
tried  to  save  them  by  giving  them  letters  and  mes- 
sages to  Sparta;  but  one  answered  that  "he  had 
come  to  fight,  not  to  carry  letters  "  ;  and  the  other, 
that  "  his  deeds  would  tell  all  that  Sparta  wished  to 
know."  Another  Spartan,  named  Dienices,  when 
told  that  the  enemy's  archers  were  so  numerous 
that  their  arrows  darkened  the  sun,  replied,  "  So 
much  the  better,  we  shall  fight  in  the  shade."  Two 
of  the  300  had  been  sent  to  a  neighboring  village, 
suffering  severely  from  a  complaint  in  the  eyes. 
One  of  them,  called  Eurytus,  put  on  his  armor,  and 
commanded  his  helot  to  lead  him  to  his  place  in  the 
ranks  ;  the  other,  called  Aristodemus,  was  so  over- 
powered with  illness  that  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
carried  away  with  the  retreating  allies.  It  was  still 
early  in  the  day  when  all  were  gone,  and  Leonidas 
gave  the  word  to  his  men  to  take  their  last  meal. 
"  To-night,"  he  said,  "  we  shall  sup  with  Pluto." 

Hitherto,  he  had  stood  on  the  defensive,  and  had 
husbanded  the  lives  of  his  men  ;  but  he  now  desired 
to  make  as  great  a  slaughter  as  possible,  so  as  to 
inspire  the  enemy  with  dread  of  the  Grecian  name. 
He  therefore  marched  out  beyond  the  wall,  without 
waiting  to  be  attacked,  and  the  battle  began.  The 
Persian  captains  went  behind  their  wretched  troops 
and  scourged  them  on  to  the  fight  with  whips  !  Poor 
wretches,  they  were  driven  on  to  be  slaughtered, 
pierced  with  the  Greek  spears,  hurled  into  the  sea, 
or  trampled  into  the  mud  of  the  morass  ;  but  their 
inexhaustible  numbers  told  at  length.  The  spears 
of  the  Greeks  broke  under  hard  service,  and  their 
swords  alone  remained  ;  they  began  to  fall,  and  Le- 
onidas himself  was  among  the  first  of  the  slain. 
Hotter  than  ever  was  the  fight  over  his  corpse,  and 


42  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

two  Persian  princes,  brothers  of  Xerxes,  were  there 
killed  ;  but  at  length  word  was  brought  that  Hydar- 
nes  was  over  the  pass,  and  that  the  few  remaining 
men  were  thus  enclosed  on  all  sides.  The  Spartans 
and  Thespians  made  their  way  to  a  little  hillock 
within  the  wall,  resolved  to  let  this  be  the  place  of 
their  last  stand  ;  but  the  hearts  of  the  Thebans  failed 
them,  and  they  came  towards  the  Persians  holding 
out  their  hands  in  entreaty  for  mercy.  Quarter  was 
given  to  them,  but  they  were  all  branded  with  the 
king's  mark  as  untrustworthy  deserters.  The  helots 
probably  at  this  time  escaped  into  the  mountains  : 
while  the  small  desperate  band  stood  side  by  side 
on  the  hill  still  fighting  to  the  last,  some  with  swords, 
others  with  daggers,  others  even  with  their  hands 
and  teeth,  till  not  one  living  man  remained  amongst 
them  when  the  sun  went  down.  There  was  only 
a  mound  of  slain,  bristled  over  with  arrows. 

Twenty  thousand  Persians  had  died  before  that 
handful  of  men  !  Xerxes  asked  Demaratus  if  there 
were  many  more  at  Sparta  like  these,  and  was  told 
there  were  8000.  It  must  have  been  with  a  some- 
what failing  heart  that  he  invited  his  courtiers  from 
the  fleet  to  see  what  he  had  done  to  the  men  who 
dared  to  oppose  him  !  and  showed  them  the  head 
and  arm  of  Leonidas  set  up  upon  a  cross  ;  but  he 
took  care  that  all  his  own  slain,  except  1000,  should 
first  be  put  out  of  sight.  The  body  of  the  brave 
king  was  buried  where  he  fell,  as  were  those  of  the 
other  dead.  Much  envied  were  they  by  the  un- 
happy Aristodemus,  who  found  himself  called  by 
no  name  but  the  "  Coward,"  and  was  shunned  by 
all  his  fellow-citizens.  No  one  would  give  him  fire 
or  water,  and  after  a  year  of  misery,  he  redeemed 
his  honor  by  perishing  in  the  fore-front  of  the  bat- 
tle of  Plataea,  which  was  the  last  blow  that  drove 
the  Persians  ingloriously  from  Greece. 

The  Greeks  then  united  in  doing  honor  to  the 


The  Pass  of  Thermopylcz.  43 

brave  warriors  who,  had  they  been  better  supported, 
might  have  saved  the  whole  country  from  invasion. 
The  poet  Simonides  wrote  the  inscriptions  that  were 
engraved  upon  the  pillars  that  were  set  up  in  the 
pass  to  commemorate  this  great  action.  One  was 
outside  the  wall,  where  most  of  the  fighting  had 
been.  It  seems  to  have  been  in  honor  of  the  whole 
number,  who  had  for  two  days  resisted :  — 

"  Here  did  four  thousand  men  from  Pelops'  land 
Against  three  hundred  myriads  bravely  stand. " 

In  honor  of  the  Spartans  was  another  column  :  — 

"  Go,  traveller,  to  Sparta  tell 
That  here,  obeying  her,  we  fell." 

On  the  little  hillock  of  the  last  resistance  was 
placed  the  figure  of  a  stone  lion,  in  memory  of  Le- 
onidas,  so  fitly  named  the  lion-like,  and  Simonides, 
at  his  own  expense,  erected  a  pillar  to  his  friend, 
the  seer  Megistias  :  — 

"  The  great  Megistias'  tomb  you  here  may  view, 
Who  slew  the  Medes,  fresh  from  Spercheius  fords  ; 
Well  the  wise  seer  the  coming  death  foreknew, 
Yet  scorned  he  to  forsake  his  Spartan  lords." 

The  names  of  the  300  were  likewise  engraven  on 
a  pillar  at  Sparta. 

Lion,  pillars,  and  inscriptions  have  all  long  since 
passed  away,  even  the  very  spot  itself  has  changed  ; 
new  soil  has  been  formed,  and  there  are  miles  of 
solid  ground  between  Mount  (Eta  and  the  gulf,  so 
that  the  Hot  Gates  no  longer  exist.  But  more  en- 
during than  stone  or  brass  —  nay,  than  the  very 
battle-field  itself — -has  been  the  name  of  Leonidas. 
Two  thousand  three  hundred  years  have  sped  since 
he  braced  himself  to  perish  for  his  country's  sake 


44 


A  Book  of  Golde?i  Deeds. 


in  that  narrow,  marsh)-  coast  road,  under  the  brow 
of  the  wooded  crags,  with  the  sea  by  his  side.  Since 
that  time  how  many  hearts  have  glowed,  how  many 
arms  have  been  nerved  at  the  remembrance  of  the 
Pass  of  Thermopylae,  and  the  defeat  that  was  worth- 
so  much  more  than  a  victory  ! 


THE    ROCK   OF   THE   CAPITOL. 
B.C.  389. 

THE  city  of  Rome  was  gradually  rising  on  the 
banks  of  the  Tiber,  and  every  year  was  adding 
to  its  temples  and  public  buildings. 

Every  citizen  loved  his  city  and  her  greatness 
above  all  else.  There  was  as  yet  little  wealth 
among  them  ;  the  richest  owned  little  more  than  a 
few  acres,  which  they  cultivated  themselves  by  the 
help  of  their  families,  and  sometimes  of  a  few  slaves, 
and  the  beautiful  Campagna  di  Roma,  girt  in  by 
hills  looking  like  amethysts  in  the  distance,  had  not 
then  become  almost  uninhabitable  from  pestilential 
air,  but  was  rich  and  fertile,  full  of  highly  cultivated 
small  farms,  where  corn  was  raised  in  furrows  made 
by  a  small  hand-plough,  and  herds  of  sheep,  goats, 
and  oxen  browsed  in  the  pasture  lands.  The  own- 
ers of  these  lands  would  on  public  days  take  off 
their  rude  working-dress  and  broad-brimmed  straw- 
hat,  and  putting  on  the  white  toga  with  a  purple 
hem,  would  enter  the  city,  and  go  to  'the  valley 
called  the  Forum  or  Market-place  to  give  their  votes 
for  the  officers  of  state  who  were  elected  every  year  ; 
especially  the  two  consuls,  who  were  like  kings  all 
but  the  crown,  wore  purple  togas  richly  embroid- 
ered, sat  on  ivory  chairs,  and  were  followed  by  lie- 
tors  carrying  an  axe  in  a  bundle  of  rods  for  the  exe- 
cution of  justice.     In  their  own  chamber  sat  the 


46  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Senate,  the  great  council  composed  of  the  patri- 
cians, or  citizens  of  highest  birth,  and  of  those  who 
had  formerly  been  consuls.  They  decided  on  peace 
or  war,  and  made  the  laws,  and  were  the  real  gov- 
ernors of  the  State,  and  their  grave  dignity  made  a 
great  impression  on  all  who  came  near  them.  Above 
the  buildings  of  the  city  rose  steep  and  high  the 
Capitoline  Hill,  with  the  Temple  of  Jupiter  on  its 
summit,  and  the  strong  wall  in  which  was  the  chief 
stronghold  and  citadel  of  Rome,  the  Capitol,  the 
very  centre  of  her  strength  and  resolution.  When 
a  war  was  decided  on,  every  citizen  capable  of  bear- 
ing arms  was  called  into  the  Forum,  bringing  his 
helmet,  breastplate,  short  sword,  and  heavy  spear, 
and  the  officers,  called  tribunes,  chose  out  a  suffi- 
cient number,  who  were  formed  into  bodies  called 
legions,  and  marched  to  battle  under  the  command 
of  one  of  the  consuls.  Many  little  States  or  Italian 
tribes,  who  had  nearly  the  same  customs  as  Rome, 
surrounded  the  Campagna,  and  so  many  disputes 
arose,  that  every  year,  as  soon  as  the  crops  were 
saved,  the  armies  marched  out,  the  flocks  were 
driven  to  folds  on  the  hills,  the  women  and  children 
were  placed  in  the  walled  cities,  and  a  battle  was 
fought,  sometimes  followed  up  by  the  siege  of  the 
city  of  the  defeated.  The  Romans  did  not  always 
obtain  the  victory,  but  there  was  a  stanchness 
about  them  that  was  sure  to  prevail  in  the  long  run  ; 
if  beaten  one  year,  they  came  back  to  the  charge  the 
next,  and  thus  they  gradually  mastered  one  of  their 
neighbors  after  another,  and  spread  their  dominion 
over  the  central  part  of  Italy. 

They  were  well  used  to  Italian  and  Etruscan  ways 
of  making  war,  but  after  nearly  four  hundred  years 
of  this  kind  of  fighting,  a  stranger  and  wilder  enemy 
came  upon  them.  These  were  the  Gauls,  a  tall, 
strong,  brave  people,  long-limbed  and  red-haired, 
of  the  same  race  as  the  Highlanders  of  Scotland. 


The  Rock  of  the  Capitol.  47 

They  had  gradually  spread  themselves  over  the 
middle  of  Europe,  and  had  for  some  generations 
past  lived  among  the  Alpine  mountains,  whence 
they  used  to  come  down  upon  the  rich  plains  of 
northern  Italy  for  forays,  in  which  they  slew  and 
burnt,  and  drove  off  cattle,  and  now  and  then,  when 
a  country  was  quite  depopulated,  would  settle  them- 
selves in  it.  And  thus,  the  Gauls  conquering  from 
the  north  and  the  Romans  from  the  south,  these  two 
fierce  nations  at  length  came  against  one  another. 

The  old  Roman  story  is  that  it  happened  thus  : 
The  Gauls  had  an  unusually  able  leader,  whom  Lat- 
in historians  call  Brennus,  but  whose  real  name  was 
most  likely  Bran,  and  who  is  said  to  have  come  out 
of  Britain.  He  had  brought  a  great  host  of  Gauls 
to  attack  Clusium,  a  Tuscan  city,  and  the  inhabit- 
ants sent  to  Rome  to  entreat  succor.  Three  am- 
bassadors, brothers  of  the  noble  old  family  of  Fabi- 
us,  were  sent  from  Rome  to  intercede  for  the  Clusi- 
ans.  They  asked  Brennus  what  harm  the  men  of 
Clusium  had  done  the  Gauls,  that  they  thus  made 
war  on  them,  and,  according  to  Plutarch's  account, 
Brennus  made  answer  that  the  injury  was  that  the 
Clusians  possessed  land  that  the  Gauls  wanted,  re- 
marking, that  it  was  exactly  the  way  in  which  the 
Romans  themselves  treated  their  neighbors,  adding, 
however,  that  this  was  neither  cruel  nor  unjust,  but 
according 

"  To  the  good  old  plan, 

That  they  should  take  who  have  the  power, 

And  they  should  keep  who  can."* 

The  Fabii,  on  receiving  this  answer,  were  so  foolish 
as  to  transgress  the  rule,  owned  even  by  the  savage 
Gauls,  that  an  ambassador  should  neither  fight  nor 
be  fought  with  ;  they  joined  the  Clusians,  and  one 

*  These  lines  of  Wordsworth  on  Rob  Roy's  grave  almost  literally 
translate  the  speech  Plutarch  gives  the  first  Kelt  of  history,  Brennus. 


48  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

brother,  named  Quintus,  killed  a  remarkably  large 
and  tall  Gallic  chief  in  single  combat.  Brennus  was 
justly  enraged,  and  sent  messengers  to  Rome  to  de- 
mand that  the  brothers  should  be  given  up  to  him 
for  punishment.  The  priests  and  many  of  the  Sen- 
ate held  that  the  rash  young  men  had  deserved 
death  as  covenant-breakers  ;  but  their  father  made 
strong  interest  for  them,  and  prevailed  not  only  to 
have  them  spared,  but  even  chosen  as  tribunes  to 
lead  the  legions  in  the  war  that  was  expected.* 
Thus  he  persuaded  the  whole  nation  to  take  on  it- 
self the  guilt  of  his  sons,  a  want  of  true  self-devo- 
tion uncommon  among  the  old  Romans,  and  which 
was  severely  punished. 

The  Gauls  were  much  enraged,  and  hurried  south- 
wards, not  waiting  for  plunder  by  the  way,  but  de- 
claring that  they  were  friends  to  every  State  save 
Rome.  The  Romans  on  their  side  collected  their 
troops  in  haste,  but  with  a  lurking  sense  of  having 
transgressed  ;  and  since  they  had  gainsayed  the 
counsel  of  their  priests,  they  durst  not  have  recourse 
to  the  sacrifices  and  ceremonies  by  which  they  usu- 
ally sought  to  gain  the  favor  of  their  gods.  Even 
among  heathens,  the  saying  has  often  been  verified, 
"a  sinful  heart  makes  failing  hand,"  and  the  battle 
on  the  banks  of  the  river  Allia,  about  eleven  miles 
from  Rome,  was  not  so  much  a  fight  as  a  rout.  The 
Roman  soldiers  were  ill  drawn  up,  and  were  at  once 
broken.  Some  fled  to  Veil  and  other  towns,  many 
were  drowned  in  crossing  the  Tiber,  and  it  was  but 
a  few  who  showed  in  Rome  their  shame-stricken 
faces,  and  brought  word  that  the  Gauls  were  upon 
them. 

Had  the  Gauls  been  really  in  pursuit,  the  Roman 
name  and  nation  would  have  perished  under  their 

*  These  events  happened  during  an  experiment  made  by  the  Ro- 
mans of  having  six  military  tribunes  instead  of  two  consuls. 


The  Rock  of  the  Capitol.  49 

swords  ;  but  they  spent  three  days  in  feasting  and 
sharing  their  plunder,  and  thus  gave  the  Romans 
time  to  take  measures  for  the  safety  of  such  as  could 
yet  escape.  There  seems  to  have  been  no  notion 
of  defending  the  city,  the  soldiers  had  been  too 
much  dispersed  ;  but  all  who  still  remained  and 
could  call  up  something  of  their  ordinary  courage, 
carried  all  the  provisions  they  could  collect  into  the 
stronghold  of  the  Capitol,  and  resolved  to  hold  out 
there  till  the  last,  in  hopes  that  the  scattered  army 
might  muster  again,  or  that  the  Gauls  might  retreat, 
after  having  revenged  themselves  on  the  city.  Ev- 
ery one  who  could  not  fight,  took  flight,  taking  with 
them  all  they  could  carry,  and  among  them  went 
the  white-clad  troop  of  vestal  virgins,  carrying  with 
them  their  censer  of  fire,  which  was  esteemed  sa- 
cred, and  never  allowed  to  be  extinguished.  A  man 
named  Albinus,  who  saw  these  sacred  women  foot- 
sore, weary,  and  weighed  down  with  the  treasures 
of  their  temple,  removed  his  own  family  and  goods 
from  his  cart  and  seated  them  in  it,  —  an  act  of  rev- 
erence for  which  he  was  much  esteemed,  —  and  thus 
they  safely  reached  the  city  of  Cumae.  The  only 
persons  left  in  Rome  outside  the  Capitol  were 
eighty  of  the  oldest  senators  and  some  of  the 
priests.  Some  were  too  feeble  to  fly,  and  would 
not  come  into  the  Capitol  to  consume  the  food  that 
might  maintain  fighting  men  ;  but  most  of  them 
were  filled  with  a  deep,  solemn  thought,  that,  by  of- 
fering themselves  to  the  weapons  of  the  barbarians, 
they  might  atone  for  the  sin  sanctioned  by  the  Re- 
public, and  that  their  death  might  be  the  saving  of 
the  nation.  This  notion  that  the  death  of  a  ruler 
would  expiate  a  country's  guilt,  was  one  of  the 
strange  presages  abroad  in  the  heathen  world  of  that 
which  alone  takes  away  the  sin  of  all  mankind. 

On  came  the  Gauls  at  last.    The  gates  stood  open, 
the    streets    were    silent,    the    houses'   low-browed 
4 


50  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

doors  showed  no  one  in  the  paved  courts.  No  liv- 
ing man  was  to  be  seen,  till  at  last,  hurrying  down 
the  steep  empty  streets,  they  reached  the  great  open 
space  of  the  Forum,  and  there  they  stood  still  in 
amazement,  for,  ranged  along  a  gallery,  were  a  row 
of  ivory  chairs,  and  in  each  chair  sat  the  figure  of  a 
white-haired,  white-bearded  man,  with  arms  and  legs 
bare,  and  robes  either  of  snowy  white,  white  bor- 
dered with  purple,  or  purple  richly  embroidered, 
ivory  staves  in  their  hands,  and  majestic,  unmoved 
countenances.  So  motionless  were  they,  that  the 
Gauls  stood  still,  not  knowing  whether  they  beheld 
men  or  statues.  A  wondrous  scene  it  must  have 
been,  as  the  brawny,  red-haired  Gauls,  with  freckled 
visage,  keen  little  eyes,  long  broad  sword,  and  wide 
plaid  garment,  fashioned  into  loose  trousers,  came 
curiously  down  into  the  market-place,  one  after  an- 
other ;  and  each  stood  silent  and  transfixed  at  the 
spectacle  of  those  grand,  figures,  still  unmoving, 
save  that  their  large  full  liquid  dark  eyes  showed 
them  to  be  living  beings.  Surely  these  Gauls 
deemed  themselves  in  the  presence  of  that  council 
of  kings  who  were  sometimes  supposed  to  govern 
Rome,  nay,  if  they  were  not  before  the  gods  them- 
selves. At  last,  one  Gaul,  ruder,  or  more  curious 
than  the  rest,  came  up  to  one  of  the  venerable  fig- 
ures, and,  to  make  proof  whether  he  were  flesh  and 
blood,  stroked  his  beard.  Such  an  insult  from  an 
uncouth  barbarian  was  more  than  Roman  blood 
could  brook,  and  the  Gaul  soon  had  his  doubt  sat- 
isfied by  a  sharp  blow  on  the  head  from  the  ivory 
staff.  All  reverence  was  dispelled  by  that  stroke  ; 
it  was  at  once  returned  by  a  death  thrust,  and  the 
fury  of  the  savages  wakening  in  proportion  to  the 
awe  that  had  at  first  struck  them,  they  rushed  on 
the  old  senators,  and  slew  each  one  in  his  curule 
chair. 

Then  they  dispersed  through  the  city,  burning, 


The  Rock  of  the  Capitol.  5  r 

plundering,  and  destroying.  To  take  the  Capitol 
they  soon  found  to  be  beyond  their  power,  but  they 
hoped  to  starve  the  defenders  out ;  and  in  the 
meantime  they  spent  their  time  in  pulling  down  the 
outer  walls,  and  such  houses  and  temples  as  had  re- 
sisted the  fire,  till  the  defenders  of  the  Capitol  looked 
down  from  their  height  on  nothing  but  desolate 
black  burnt  ground,  with  a  few  heaps  of  ruins  in 
the  midst,  and  the  barbarians  roaming  about  in  it, 
and  driving  in  the  cattle  that  their  foraging  parties 
collected  from  the  country  round.  There  was  much 
earnest  faith  in  their  own  religion  among  the  Ro- 
mans :  they  took  all  this  ruin  as  the  just  reward  of 
their  shelter  of  the  Fabii,  and  even  in  their  extrem- 
ity were  resolved  not  to  transgress  any  sacred  rule. 
Though  food  daily  became  more  scarce  and  starva- 
tion was  fast  approaching,  not  one  of  the  sacred 
geese  that  were  kept  in  Juno's  Temple  was  touched  ; 
and  one  Fabius  Dorso,  who  believed  that  the  house- 
hold gods  of  his  family  required  yearly  a  sacrifice 
on  their  own  festival  day  on  the  Ouirinal  Hill,  ar- 
rayed himself  in  the  white  robes  of  a  sacrificer,  took 
his  sacred  images  in  his  arms,  and  went  out  of  the 
Capitol,  through  the  midst  of  the  enemy,  through 
the  ruins  to  the  accustomed  altar,  and  there  per- 
formed the  regular  rites.  The  Gauls,  seeing  that  it 
was  a  religious  ceremony,  let  him  pass  through  them 
untouched,  and  he  returned  in  safety  ;  but  Brennus 
was  resolved  on  completing  his  conquest,  and  while 
half  his  forces  went  out  to  plunder,  he  remained  with 
the  other  half,  watching  the  moment  to  effect  an  en- 
trance into  the  Capitol ;  and  how  were  the  defend- 
ers, worn  out  with  hunger,  to  resist  without  relief 
from  without  ?  And  who  was  there  to  bring  relief 
to  them,  who  were  themselves  the  Roman  State 
and  government  ? 

Now  there  was  a  citizen,  named  Marcus  Furius 
Camillus,  who  was,  without  question,  at  that  time, 


52  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

the  first  soldier  of  Rome,  and  had  taken  several  of 
the  chief  Italian  cities,  especially  that  of  Veii,  which 
had  long  been  a  most  dangerous  enemy.  But  he 
was  a  proud,  haughty  man,  and  had  brought  on  him- 
self much  dislike  ;  until,  at  last,  a  false  accusation 
was  brought  against  him,  that  he  had  taken  an  un- 
fair share  of  the  plunder  of  Veii.  He  was  too  proud 
to  stand  a  trial  ;  and,  leaving  the  city,  was  immedi- 
ately fined  a  considerable  sum.  He  had  taken  up  his 
abode  at  the  city  of  Ardea,  and  was  there  living  when 
the  plundering  half  of  Brennus's  army  was  reported 
to  be  coming  thither.  Camillus  immediately  offered 
the  magistrates  to  undertake  their  defence  ;  and  get- 
ting together  all  the  men  who  could  bear  arms,  he  led 
them  out,  fell  upon  the  Gauls  as  they  all  lay  asleep 
and  unguarded  in  the  dead  of  night,  made  a  great 
slaughter  of  them,  and  saved  Ardea.  All  this  was 
heard  by  the  many  Romans  who  had  been  living  dis- 
persed since  the  rout  of  Allia  ;  and  they  began  to  re- 
cover heart  and  spirit,  and  to  think  that  if  Camillus 
would  be  their  leader,  they  might  yet  do  something 
to  redeem  the  honor  of  Rome,  and  save  their  friends 
in  the  Capitol.  An  entreaty  was  sent  to  him  to  take 
the  command  of  them  ;  but,  like  a  proud,  stern  man 
as  he  was,  he  made  answer,  that  he  was  a  mere  ex- 
ile, and  could  not  take  upon  himself  to  lead  Romans 
without  a  decree  from  the  Senate  giving  him  au- 
thority. The  Senate  was  —  all  that  remained  of  it 
—  shut  up  in  the  Capitol ;  the  Gauls  were  spread 
all  round  ;  how  was  that  decree  to  be  obtained  ? 

A  young  man,  named  Pontius  Cominius,  under- 
took the  desperate  mission.  He  put  on  a  peasant 
dress,  and  hid  some  corks  under  it,  supposing  that 
he  should  find  no  passage  by  the  bridge  over  the 
Tiber.  Travelling  all  day  on  foot,  he  came  at  night 
to  the  bank,  and  saw  the  guard  at  the  bridge  ;  then, 
having  waited  for  darkness,  he  rolled  his  one  thin, 
light  garment,   with  the  corks  wrapped    up   in    itr 


The  Rock  of  the  Capitol.  53 

round  his  head,  and  trusted  himself  to  the  stream 
of  Father  Tiber,  like  "good  Horatius  "  before  him  ; 
and  he  was  safely  borne  along  to  the  foot  of  the  Cap- 
itoline  Hill.  He  crept  along,  avoiding  every  place 
where  he  saw  lights  or  heard  noise,  till  he  came  to 
a  rugged  precipice,  which  he  suspected  would  not 
be  watched  by  the  enemy,  who  would  suppose  it  too 
steep  to  be  climbed  from  above  or  below.  But  the 
resolute  man  did  not  fear  the  giddy,  dangerous  as- 
cent, even  in  the  darkness  ;  he  swung  himself  up  by 
the  stems  and  boughs  of  vines  and  climbing  plants, 
his  naked  feet  clung  to  the  rocks  and  tufts  of  grass, 
and  at  length  he  stood  on  the  top  of  the  rampart, 
calling  out  his  name  to  the  soldiers  who  came  in 
haste  around  him,  not  knowing  whether  he  were 
friend  or  foe.  A  joyful  sound  must  his  Latin 
speech  have  been  to  the  long-tried,  half-starved  gar- 
rison, who  had  not  seen  a  fresh  face  for  six  long 
months  !  The  few  who  represented  the  Senate  and 
people  of  Rome  were  hastily  awakened  from  their 
sleep,  and  gathered  together  to  hear  the  tidings 
brought  them  at  so  much  risk.  Pontius  told  them 
of  the  victory  at  Ardea,  and  that  Camillus  and  the 
Romans  collected  at  Veii  were  only  waiting  to 
march  to  their  succor  till  they  should  give  him  law- 
ful power  to  take  the  command.  There  was  little 
debate.  The  vote  was  passed  at  once  to  make  Ca- 
millus Dictator,  an  office  to  which  Romans  were 
elected  upon  great  emergencies,  and  which  gave 
them  for  the  time,  absolute  kingly  control  ;  and  then 
Pontius,  bearing  the  appointment,  set  off  once  again 
upon  his  mission,  still  under  shelter  of  night,  clam- 
bered down  the  rock,  and  crossed  the  Gallic  camp 
before  the  barbarians  were  yet  awake. 

There  was  hope  in  the  little  garrison  ;  but  dan- 
ger was  not  over.  The  sharp-eyed  Gauls  observed 
that  the  shrubs  and  creepers  were  broken,  the  moss 
frayed,  and  fresh  stones  and  earth  rolled  down  at 


54  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

the  crag  of  the  Capitol :  they  were  sure  that  the 
rock  had  been  climbed,  and,  therefore,  that  it  might 
be  climbed  again.  Should  they,  who  were  used  to 
the  snowy  peaks,  dark  abysses,  and  huge  glaciers 
of  the  Alps,  be  afraid  to  climb  where  a  soft  dweller 
in  a  tame  Italian  town  could  venture  a  passage  ? 
Brennus  chose  out  the  hardiest  of  his  mountain- 
eers, and  directed  them  to  climb  up  in  the  dead  of 
night,  one  by  one,  in  perfect  silence,  and  thus  to 
surprise  the  Romans,  and  complete  the  slaughter 
and  victory,  before  the  forces  assembling  at  Veii 
could  come  to  their  rescue. 

Silently  the  Gauls  climbed,  so  stilly  that  not  even 
a  dog  heard  them  ;  and  the  sentinel  nearest  to  the 
post,  who  had  fallen  into  a  dead  sleep  of  exhaus- 
tion from  hunger,  never  awoke.  But  the  fatal  still- 
ness was  suddenly  broken  by  loud  gabbling,  cack- 
ling, and  flapping  of  heavy  wings.  The  sacred 
geese  of  Juno,  which  had  been  so  religiously  spared 
in  the  famine,  were  frightened  by  the  rustling  be- 
neath, and  proclaimed  their  terror  in  their  own 
noisy  fashion.  The  first  to  take  the  alarm  was  Mar- 
cus Manlius,  who  started  forward  just  in  time  to 
meet  the  foremost  climbers  as  they  set  foot  on  the 
rampart.  One,  who  raised  an  axe  to  strike,  lost  his 
arm  by  one  stroke  of  Manlius's  short  Roman  sword  ; 
the  next  was  by  main  strength  hurled  backwards 
over  the  precipice,  and  Manlius  stood  alone  on  the 
top,  for  a  few  moments,  ready  to  strike  the  next 
who  should  struggle  up.  The  whole  of  the  garri- 
son were  in  a  few  moments  on  the  alert,  and  the 
attack  was  entirely  repulsed;  the  sleeping  sentry 
was  cast  headlong  down  the  rock  ;  and  Manlius 
was  brought,  by  each  grateful  soldier,  that  which 
was  then  most  valuable  to  all,  a  little  meal  and  a 
small  measure  of  wine.  Still,  the  condition  of  the 
Capitol  was  lamentable  :  there  was  no  certainty  that 
Pontius  had  ever  reached  Camillus  in  safety ;  and, 


The  Rock  of  the  Capitol.  55 

indeed,  the  discovery  of  his  path  by  the  enemy 
would  rather  have  led  to  the  supposition  that  he 
had  been  seized  and  detected.  The  best  hope  lay 
in  wearying  out  the  besiegers  ;  and  there  seemed 
to  be  more  chance  of  this,  since  the  Gauls  often 
could  be  seen  from  the  heights,  burying  the  corpses 
of  their  dead  ;  their  tall,  bony  forms  looked  gaunt  and 
drooping,  and  here  and  there,  unburied  carcasses  lay 
amongst  the  ruins.  Nor  were  the  flocks  and  herds 
any  longer  driven  in  from  the  country.  Either  all 
must  have  been  exhausted,  or  else  Camillus  and 
his  friends  must  be  near,  and  preventing  their  raids. 
At  any  rate,  it  appeared  as  if  the  enemy  was  quite 
as  ill  off  as  to  provisions  as  the  garrison,  and  in 
worse  condition  as  to  health.  In  effect,  this  was  the 
first  example  of  the  famous  saying,  that  Rome  de- 
stroys her  conquerors.  In  this  state  of  things  one 
of  the  Romans  had  a  dream  that  Jupiter,  the  spe- 
cial god  of  the  Capitol,  appeared  to  him,  and  gave 
the  strange  advice  that  all  the  remaining  flour 
should  be  baked,  and  the  loaves  thrown  down  into 
the  enemy's  camp.  Telling  the  dream,  which  may, 
perhaps,  have  been  the  shaping  of  his  own  thoughts, 
that  this  apparent  waste  would  persuade  the  barba- 
rians that  the  garrison  could  not  soon  be  starved 
out,  this  person  obtained  the  consent  of  the  rest  of 
the  besieged.  Some  approved  the  stratagem,  and 
no  one  chose  to  act  contrary  to  Jupiter's  supposed 
advice  ;  so  the  bread  was  baked,  and  tossed  down 
by  the  hungry  men. 

After  a  time,  there  was  a  report  from  the  outer 
guards  that  the  Gallic  watch  had  been  telling  them 
that  their  leader  would  be  willing  to  speak  with 
some  of  the  Roman  chiefs.  Accordingly,  Sulpitius, 
one  of  the  tribunes,  went  out,  and  had  a  conference 
with  Brennus,  who  declared  that  he  would  depart, 
provided  the  Romans  would  lay  down  a  ransom,  for 
their  Capitol  and  their  own  lives,  of  a  thousand 


56  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

pounds'  weight  of  gold.  To  this  Sulpitius  agreed, 
and,  returning  to  the  Capitol,  the  gold  was  collected 
from  the  treasury,  and  carried  down  to  meet  the 
Gauls,  who  brought  their  own  weights.  The 
weights  did  not  meet  the  amount  of  gold  orna- 
ments that  had  been  contributed  for  the  purpose, 
and  no  doubt  the  Gauls  were  resolved  to  have  all 
that  they  beheld  ;  for  when  Sulpitius  was  about  to 
try  to  arrange  the  balance,  Brennus  insultingly 
threw  his  sword  into  his  own  scale,  exclaiming,  Vce 
victis !  "Woe  to  the  conquered!"  The  Roman 
was  not  yet  fallen  so  low  as  not  to  remonstrate,  and 
the  dispute  was  waxing  sharp,  when  there  was  a 
confused  outcry  in  the  Gallic  camp,  a  shout  from 
the  heights  of  the  Capitol,  and  into  the  midst  of 
the  open  space  rode  a  band  of  Roman  patricians 
and  knights  in  armor,  with  the  Dictator  Camillus  at 
their  head. 

He  no  sooner  saw  what  was  passing,  than  he  com- 
manded the  treasure  to  be  taken  back,  and,  turning 
to  Brennus,  said,  "It  is  with  iron,  not  gold,  that 
Romans  guard  their  country." 

Brennus  declared  that  the  treaty  had  been  sworn 
to,  and  that  it  would  be  a  breach  of  faith  to  deprive 
him  of  the  ransom  ;  to  which  Camillus  replied,  that 
he  himself  was  Dictator,  and  no  one  had  the  power 
to  make  a  treaty  in  his  absence.  The  dispute  was 
so  hot,  that  they  drew  their  swords  against  one  an- 
other, and  there  was  a  skirmish  among  the  ruins  ; 
but  the  Gauls  soon  fell  back,  and  retreated  to  their 
camp,  when  they  saw  the  main  body  of  Camillus's 
army  marching  upon  them.  It  was  no  less  than 
40.000  in  number  ;  and  Brennus  knew  he  could  not 
withstand  them  with  his  broken,  sickly  army.  He 
drew  off  early  the  next  morning ;  but  was  followed 
by  Camillus,  and  routed,  with  great  slaughter,  about 
eight  miles  from  Rome  ;  and  very  few  of  the  Gauls 
lived  to  return  home,  for  those  who  were  not  slain 


The  Rock  of  the  Capitol.  57 

in  battle  were  cut  off  in  their  flight  by  the  country 
people,  whom  they  had  plundered. 

In  reward  for  their  conduct  on  this  occasion,  Ca- 
millus  was  termed  Romulus,  Father  of  his  Country, 
and  Second  Founder  of  Rome  ;  Marcus  Manlius 
received  the  honorable  surname  of  Capitolinus  ;  and 
even  the  geese  were  honored  by  having  a  golden 
image  raised  to  their  honor  in  Juno's  temple,  and  a 
live  goose  was  yearly  carried  in  triumph,  upon  a 
soft  litter,  in  a  golden  cage,  as  long  as  any  heathen 
festivals  lasted.  The  reward  of  Pontius  Cominius 
does  not  appear  ;  but  surely  he,  and  the  old  sena- 
tors who  died  for  their  country's  sake,  deserve  to 
be  forever  remembered  for  their  brave  contempt  of 
life  when  a  service  could  be  done  to  the  State. 

The  truth  of  the  whole  narrative  is  greatly  doubt- 
ed, and  it  is  suspected  that  the  Gallic  conquest  was 
more  complete  than  the  Romans  ever  chose  to  avow. 
Their  history  is  far  from  clear  up  to  this  very  epoch, 
when  it  is  said  that  all  their  records  were  destroyed  ; 
but  even  when  place  and  period  are  misty,  great 
names  and  the  main  outline  of  their  actions  loom 
through  the  cloud,  perhaps  exaggerated,  but  still 
with  some  reality  ;  and  if  the  magnificent  romance 
of  the  sack  of  Rome  be  not  fact,  yet  it  is  certainly 
history,  and  well  worthy  of  note  and  remembrance, 
as  one  of  the  finest  extant  traditions  of  a  whole 
chain  of  Golden  Deeds. 


w- 


THE  TWO   FRIENDS   OF  SYRACUSE. 

B.  C.    380  (CIRCA). 

MOST  of  the  best  and  noblest  of  the  Greeks 
held  what  was  called  the  Pythagorean  phi- 
losophy. This  was  one  of  the  many  systems  framed 
by  the  great  men  of  heathenism,  when  by  the  feeble 
light  of  nature  they  were,  as  St.  Paul  says,  "  seek- 
ing after  God,  if  haply  they  might  feel  after  Him," 
like  men  groping  in  the  darkness.  Pythagoras  lived 
before  the  time  of  history,  and  almost  nothing  is 
known  about  him,  though  his  teaching  and  his  name 
were  never  lost.  There  is  a  belief  that  he  had  trav- 
elled in  the  East,  and  in  Egypt,  and  as  he  lived 
about  the  time  of  the  dispersion  of  the  Israelites,  it 
is  possible  that  some  of  his  purest  and  best  teaching 
might  have  been  crumbs  gathered  from  their  fuller 
instruction  through  the  Law  and  the  Prophets.  One 
thing  is  plain,  that  even  in  dealing  with  heathenism 
the  Divine  rule  holds  good,  "  By  their  fruits  ye  shall 
know  them."  Golden  deeds  are  only  to  be  found 
among  men  whose  belief  is  earnest  and  sincere,  and 
in  something  really  high  and  noble.  Where  there 
was  nothing  worshipped  but  savage  or  impure  pow- 
er, and  the  very  form  of  adoration  was  cruel  and 
unclean,  as  among  the  Canaanites  and  Carthafirini- 
ans,  there  we  find  no  true  self-devotion.  The  great 
deeds  of  the  heathen  world  were  all  done  by  early 
Greeks  and  Romans  before  yet  the  last  gleams  of 


The  Two  Friends  of  Syracuse.  59 

purer  light  had  faded  out  of  their  belief,  and  while 
their  moral  sense  still  nerved  them  to  energy ;  or 
else  by  such  later  Greeks  as  had  embraced  the 
deeper  and  more  earnest  yearnings  of  the  minds 
that  had  become  a  "  law  unto  themselves." 

The  Pythagoreans  were  bound  together  in  a 
brotherhood,  the  members  of  which  had  rules  that 
are  now  not  understood,  but  which  linked  them  so 
as  to  form  a  sort  of  club,  with  common  religious  ob- 
servances and  pursuits  of  science,  especially  mathe- 
matics and  music.  And  they  were  taught  to  restrain 
their  passions,  especially  that  of  anger,  and  to  en- 
dure with  patience  all  kinds  of  suffering  ;  believing 
that  such  self-restraint  brought  them  nearer  to  the 
gods,  and  that  death  would  set  them  free  from  the 
prison  of  the  body.  The  souls  of  evil-doers  would, 
they  thought,  pass  into  the  lower  and  more  degraded 
animals,  while  those  of  good  men  would  be  gradually 
purified,  and  rise  to  a  higher  existence.  This, 
though  lamentably  deficient,  and  false  in  some 
points,  was  a  real  religion,  inasmuch  as  it  gave  a 
rule  of  life,  with  a  motive  for  striving  for  wisdom 
and  virtue.  Two  friends  of  this  Pythagorean  sect 
lived  at  Syracuse,  in  the  end  of  the  fourth  century 
before  the  Christian  era.  Syracuse  was  a  great 
Greek  city,  built  in  Sicily,  and  full  of  all  kinds  of 
Greek  art  and  learning  ;  but  it  was  a  place  of  dan- 
ger in  their  time,  for  it  had  fallen  under  the  tyranny 
of  a  man  of  strange  and  capricious  temper,  though 
of  great  abilities,  namely,  Dionysius.  He  is  said  to 
have  been  originally  only  a  clerk  in  a  public  office, 
but  his  talents  raised  him  to  continually  higher 
situations,  and  at  length,  in  a  great  war  with  the 
Carthaginians,  who  had  many  settlements  in  Sicily, 
he  became  general  of  the  army,  and  then  found  it 
easy  to  establish  his  power  over  the  city. 

This  power  was  not  according  to  the  laws,  for 
Syracuse,  like  most  other  cities,  ought  to  have  been 


60  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

governed  by  a  council  of  magistrates  ;  but  Dionysius 
was  an  exceedingly  able  man,  and  made  the  city 
much  more  rich  and  powerful,  he  defeated  the  Car- 
thaginians, and  rendered  Syracuse  by  far  the  chief 
city  in  the  island,  and  he  contrived  to  make  every 
one  so  much  afraid  of  him  that  no  one  durst  attempt 
to  overthrow  his  power.  He  was  a  good  scholar, 
and  very  fond  of  philosophy  and  poetry,  and  he 
delighted  to  have  learned  men  around  him,  and  he 
had  naturally  a  generous  spirit  ;  but  the  sense  that 
he  was  in  a  position  that  did  not  belong  to  him,  and 
that  every  one  hated  him  for  assuming  it,  made  him 
very  harsh  and  suspicious.  It  is  of  him  that  the 
story  is  told,  that  he  had  a  chamber  hollowed  in  the 
rock  near  his  state  prison,  and  constructed  with  gal- 
leries to  conduct  sounds  like  an  ear,  so  that  he 
might  overhear  the  conversation  of  his  captives  ; 
and  of  him,  too,  is  told  that  famous  anecdote  which 
has  become  a  proverb,  that  on  hearing  a  friend, 
named  Damocles,  express  a  wish  to  be  in  his  situa- 
tion for  a  single  day,  he  took  him  at  his  word,  and 
Damocles  found  himself  at  a  banquet  with  every- 
thing that  could  delight  his  senses,  delicious  food, 
costly  wine,  flowers,  perfumes,  music  ;  but  with  a 
sword  with  the  point  almost  touching  his  head,  and 
hanging  by  a  single  horse-hair !  This  was  to  show 
the  condition  in  which  a  usurper  lived  ! 

Thus  Dionysius  was  in  constant  dread.  He  had 
a  wide  trench  round  his  bedroom,  with  a  drawbridge 
that  he  drew  up  and  put  down  with  his  own  hands  ; 
and  he  put  one  barber  to  death  for  boasting  that  he 
held  a  razor  to  the  tyrant's  throat  every  morning. 
After  this  he  made  his  young  daughters  shave  him  ; 
but  by-and-by  he  would  not  trust  them  with  a  razor, 
and  caused  them  to  singe  off  his  beard  with  hot  nut- 
shells !  He  was  said  to  have  put  a  man  named 
Antiphon  to  death  for  answering  him,  when  he 
asked  what  was  the  best  kind  of  brass,  "  That  of 


The  Two  Frie?ids  of  Syracuse.  61 

which  the  statues  of  Harmodius  and  Aristogeiton 
were  made."  These  were  the  two  Athenians  who  had 
killed  the  sons  of  Pisistratus  the  tyrant,  so  that  the 
jest  was  most  offensive,  but  its  boldness  might  have 
gained  forgiveness  for  it.  One  philosopher,  named 
Philoxenus,  he  sent  to  a  dungeon  for  finding  fault 
with  his  poetry,  but  he  afterwards  composed  another 
piece,  which  he  thought  so  superior,  that  he  could 
not  be  content  without  sending  for  this  adverse 
critic  to  hear  it.  When  he  had  finished  reading  it, 
he  looked  to  Philoxenus  for  a  compliment ;  but  the 
philosopher  only  turned  round  to  the  guards,  and 
said  dryly,  "Carry  me  back  to  prison."  This  time 
Dionysius  had  the  sense  to  laugh,  and  forgive  his 
honesty. 

All  these  stories  may  not  be  true  ;  but  that  they 
should  have  been  current  in  the  ancient  world  shows 
what  was  the  character  of  the  man  of  whom  they 
were  told,  how  stern  and  terrible  was  his  anger,  and 
how  easily  it  was  incurred.  Among  those  who  came 
under  it  was  a  Pythagorean  called  Pythias,  who  was 
sentenced  to  death,  according  to  the  usual  fate  of 
those  who  fell  under  his  suspicion. 

Pythias  had  lands  and  relations  in  Greece,  and  he 
entreated  as  a  favor  to  be  allowed  to  return  thither 
and  arrange  his  affairs,  engaging  to  return  within  a 
specified  time  to  suffer  death.  The  tyrant  laughed 
his  request  to  scorn.  Once  safe  out  of  Sicily,  who 
would  answer  for  his  return  ?  Pythias  made  reply 
that  he  had  a  friend,  who  would  become  security  for 
his  return  ;  and  while  Dionysius,  the  miserable  man 
who  trusted  nobody,  was  ready  to  scoff  at  his  sim- 
plicity, another  Pythagorean,  by  name  Damon,  came 
forward,  and  offered  to  become  surety  for  his  friend, 
engaging  that,  if  Pythias  did  not  return  according  to 
promise,  to  suffer  death  in  his  stead. 

Dyonysius,  much  astonished,  consented  to  let 
Pythias  go,  marvelling  what  would  be  the  issue  of 
the  affair.     Time  went  on,  and  Pythias  did  not  ap- 


62  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds, 

pear.  The  Syracusans  watched  Damon,  but  he 
showed  no  uneasiness.  He  said  he  was  secure  of 
his  friend's  truth  and  honor,  and  that  if  any  accident 
had  caused  the  delay  of  his  return,  he  should  rejoice 
in  dying  to  save  the  life  of  one  so  dear  to  him. 

Even  to  the  last  day.  Damon  continued  serene  and 
content,  however  it  might  fall  out  ;  nay,  even  when 
the  very  hour  drew  nigh  and  still  no  Pythias.  His 
trust  was  so  perfect,  that  he  did  not  even  grieve  at 
having  to  die  for  a  faithless  friend  who  had  left  him 
to  the  fate  to  which  he  had  unwarily  pledged  him- 
self. It  was  not  Pythias's  own  will,  but  the  winds  and 
waves,  so  he  still  declared,  when  the  decree  was 
brought  and  the  instruments  of  death  made  ready. 
The  hour  had  come,  and  a  few  moments  more  would 
have  ended  Damon's  life,  when  Pythias  duly  pre- 
sented himself,  embraced  his  friend,  and  stood  for- 
ward himself  to  receive  his  sentence,  calm,  resolute, 
and  rejoiced  that  he  had  come  in  time. 

Even  the  dim  hope  they  owned  of  a  future  state 
was  enough  to  make  these  two  brave  men  keep  their 
word,  and  confront  death  for  one  another  without 
quailing.  Dyonysius  looked  on  more  struck  than 
ever.  He  felt  that  neither  of  such  men  must  die. 
He  reversed  the  sentence  of  Pythias,  and  calling 
the  two  to  his  judgment-seat  he  entreated  them  to 
admit  him  as  a  third  in  their  friendship.  Yet  all  the 
time  he  must  have  known  it  was  a  mockery  that  he 
should  ever  be  such  as  they  were  to  each  other  — 
he  who  had  lost  the  very  power  of  trusting,  and 
constantly  sacrificed  others  to  secure  his  own  life, 
whilst  they  counted  not  their  lives  dear  to  them  in 
comparison  with  their  truth  to  their  word,  and  love 
to  one  another.  Xo  wonder  that  Damon  and  Pyth- 
ias have  become  such  a  by-word  that  they  seem  too 
well  known  to  have  their  story  told  here,  except  that 
a  name  in  every  one's  mouth  sometimes  seems  to 
be  mentioned  by  those  who  have  forgotten  or  never 
heard  the  tale  attached  to  it. 


THE    DEVOTION    OF   THE    DECII. 
b.c.  339. 

THE  spirit  of  self-devotion  is  so  beautiful  and 
noble,  that  even  when  the  act  is  performed  in 
obedience  to  the  dictates  of  a  false  religion,  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  be  struck  with  admiration  and  al- 
most reverence  for  the  unconscious  type  of  the  one 
great  act  that  has  hallowed  every  other  sacrifice. 
Thus  it  was  that  Codrus,  the  Athenian  king,  has 
ever  since  been  honored  for  the  tradition  that  he 
gave  his  own  life  to  secure  the  safety  of  his  people  ; 
and  there  is  a  touching  story,  with  neither  name 
nor  place,  of  a  heathen  monarch  who  was  bidden 
by  his  priests  to  appease  the  supposed  wrath  of  his 
gods  by  the  sacrifice  of  the  being  dearest  to  him. 
His  young  son  had  been  seized  on  as  his  most 
beloved,  when  his  wife  rushed  between  and  de- 
clared that  her  son  must  live,  and  not  by  his  death 
rob  her  of  her  right  to  fall,  as  her  husband's  dear- 
est. The  priest  looked  at  the  father  ;  the  face  that 
had  been  sternly  composed  before  was  full  of  un- 
controlled anguish  as  he  sprang  forward  to  save  the 
wife  rather  than  the  child.  That  impulse  was  an 
answer,  like  the  entreaty  of  the  mother  before  Sol- 
omon ;  the  priest  struck  the  fatal  blow  ere  the  king's 
hand  could  withhold  him,  and  the  mother  died  with  a 
last  look  of  exceeding  joy  at  her  husband's  love  and 
her  son's  safety.    Human  sacrifices  are  of  course  ac- 


64  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

cursed,  and  even  the  better  sort  of  heathens  viewed 
them  with  horror  ;  but  the  voluntary  confronting  of 
death,  even  at  the  call  of  a  distorted  presage  of  fu- 
ture atonement,  required  qualities  that  were  perhaps 
the  highest  that  could  be  exercised  among  those  who 
were  devoid  of  the  light  of  truth. 

In  the  year  339  there  was  a  remarkable  instance 
of  such  devotion.  The  Romans  were  at  war  with 
the  Latins,  a  nation  dwelling  to  the  south  of  them, 
and  almost  exactly  resembling  themselves  in  lan- 
guage, habits,  government,  and  fashions  of  fighting. 
Indeed  the  city  of  Rome  itself  was  but  an  offshoot 
from  the  old  Latin  kingdom  ;  and  there  was  not 
much  difference  between  the  two  nations  even  in 
courage  and  perseverance.  The  two  consuls  of  the 
year  were  Titus  Manlius  Torquatus  and  Publius 
Decius  Mus.  They  were  both  very  distinguished 
men.  Manlius  was  a  patrician,  or  one  of  the  high 
ancient  nobles  of  Rome,  and  had  in  early  youth 
fought  a  single  combat  with  a  gigantic  Gaul,  who 
offered  himself,  like  Goliath,  as  a  champion  of  his 
tribe  :  had  slain  him.  and  taken  from  him  a  gold 
torque,  or  collar,  whence  his  surname  Torquatus. 
Decius  was  a  plebeian  ;  one  of  the  free  though  not 
noble  citizens  who  had  votes,  but  only  within  a  few 
years  had  been  capable  of  being  chosen  to  the  higher 
offices  of  state,  and  who  looked  upon  every  election 
to  the  consulship  as  a  victory.  Three  years  previ- 
ously, when  a  tribune  in  command  of  a  legion,  De- 
cius had  saved  the  consul,  Cornelius  Cossus,  from 
a  dangerous  situation,  and  enabled  him  to  gain  a 
great  victory;  and  this  exploit  was  remembered,  and 
led  to  the  choice  of  this  well-experienced  soldier  as 
the  colleague  of  Manlius. 

The  two  consuls  both  went  out  together  in  com- 
mand of  the  forces,  each  having  a  separate  army, 
and  intending  to  act  in  concert.  They  marched  to 
the  beautiful  countrv  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Vesuvius, 


The  Devotion  of  the  Decii.  65 

which  was  then  a  harmless  mountain  clothed  with 
chestnut  woods,  with  spaces  opening  between,  where 
farms  and  vineyards  rejoiced  in  the  sunshine  and 
the  fresh  breezes  of  the  lovely  blue  bay  that  lay 
stretched  beneath.  Those  who  climbed  to  the  sum- 
mit might  indeed  find  beds  of  ashes  and  the  jagged 
edge  of  a  huge  basin  or  gulf ;  the  houses  and  walls 
were  built  of  dark-red  and  black  material  that  once 
had  flowed  from  the  boiling  crater  in  torrents  :  but 
these  had  long  since  cooled,  and  so  long  was  it  since 
a  column  of  smoke  had  been  seen  to  rise  from  the 
mountain  top,  that  it  only  remained  as  a  matter  of 
tradition  that  this  region  was  one  of  mysterious  fire, 
and  that  the  dark  cool  lake  A  vermis,  near  the  moun- 
tain skirts,  was  the  very  entrance  to  the  shadowy 
realms  beneath,  that  were  supposed  to  be  inhabited 
by  the  spirits  of  the  dead. 

It  might  be  that  the  neighborhood  of  this  lake, 
with  the  dread  imaginations  connected  with  it  by 
pagan  fancy,  influenced  even 'the  stout  hearts  of  the 
consuls  ;  for,  the  night  after  they  came  in  sight  of 
the  enemy,  each  dreamt  the  same  dream,,  namely, 
that  he  beheld  a  mighty  form  of  gigantic  height  and 
stature,  who  told  him  a  that  the  victory  was  decreed 
to  that  army  of  the  two  whose  leader  should  devote 
himself  to  the  Dii  Manes,"  that  is,  to  the  deities 
who  watched  over  the  shades  of  the  dead.  Proba- 
bly these  older  Romans  held  the  old  Etruscan  belief, 
which  took  these  "gods  beneath  "  to  be  winged  be- 
ings, who  bore  away  the  departing  soul,  weighed  its 
merits  and  demerits,  and  placed  it  in  a  region  of  peace 
or  of  woe,  according  to  its  deserts.  This  was  part 
of  the  grave  and  earnest  faith  that  gave  the  earlier 
Romans  such  truth  and  resolution  ;  but  latterly 
they  so  corrupted  it  with  the  Greek  myths,  that,  in 
after  times,  they  did  not  even  know  who  the  gods 
of  Decius  were. 

At  daybreak,  the  two  consuls  sought  one  another 
5 


66  A   Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

out,  and  told  their  dreams  ;  and  they  agreed  that 
they  would  join  their  armies  in  one,  Decius  leading 
the  right  and  Manlius  the  left  wing;  and  that  which- 
ever found  his  troops  giving  way,  should  at  once 
rush  into  the  enemy's  columns  and  die,  to  secure 
the  victory  to  his  colleague.  At  the  same  time, 
strict  commands  were  given  that  no  Roman  should 
come  out  of  his  rank  to  fight  in  single  combat  with 
the  enemy  ;  a  necessary  regulation,  as  the  Latins 
were  so  like,  in  every  respect,  to  the  Romans,  that 
there  would  have  been  fatal  confusion  had  there 
been  any  mingling  together  before  the  battle.  Just 
as  this  command  had  been  given  out,  young  Titus 
Manlius,  the  son  of  the  consul,  met  a  Latin  leader, 
who  called  him  by  name  and  challenged  him  to  fight 
hand  to  hand.  The  youth  was  emulous  of  the 
honor  his  father  had  gained  by  his  combat  at  the 
same  age  with  the  Gaul,  but  forgot  both  the  present 
edict,  and  that  his  father  had  scrupulously  asked 
permission  before  accepting  the  challenge.  He  at 
once  came  forward,  and  after  a  brave  conflict,  slew 
his  adversary,  and  taking  his  armor,  presented 
himself  at  his  father's  tent  and  laid  the  spoils  at  his 
feet. 

But  old  Manlius  turned  aside  sadly,  and  collected 
his  troops  to  hear  his  address  to  his  son  :  "  You 
have  transgressed,"  he  said,  "  the  discipline  which 
has  been  the  support  of  the  Roman  people,  and 
reduced  me  to  the  hard  necessity  of  either  forgetting 
myself  and  mine,  or  else  the  regard  I  owe  to  the 
general  safety.  Rome  must  not  suffer  by  one  fault. 
We  must  expiate  it  ourselves.  A  sad  example  shall 
we  be,  but  a  wholesome  one  to  the  Roman  youth. 
For  me,  both  the  natural  love  of  a  father,  and  that 
specimen  thou  hast  given  of  thy  valor  move  me 
exceedingly  ;  but  since  either  the  consular  authority 
must  be  established  by  thy  death,  or  destroyed  by 
thy  impunity,  I  cannot  think,  if  thou  be  a  true  Man- 


The  Devotion  of  the  Decii.  6j 

lius,  that  thou  wilt  be  backward  to  repair  the  breach 
thou  hast  made  in  military  discipline  by  undergoing 
the  just  meed  of  thine  offence."  He  then  placed 
the  wreath  of  leaves,  the  reward  of  a  victor,  upon 
his  son's  head,  and  gave  the  command  to  the  lictor 
to  bind  the  young  man  to  a  stake,  and  strike  off  his 
head.  The  troops  stood  round  as  men  stunned,  no 
one  durst  utter  a  word  ;  the  son  submitted  without 
one  complaint,  since  his  death  was  for  the  good  of 
Rome,  and  the  father,  trusting  that  the  doom  of  the 
Dii  Manes  was  about  to  overtake  him,  beheld  the 
brave  but  rash  young  head  fall,  then  watched  the 
corpse  covered  with  the  trophies  won  from  the 
Latins,  and  made  no  hinderance  to  the  glorious 
obsequies  with  which  the  whole  army  honored  this 
untimely  death.  Strict  discipline  was  indeed  estab- 
lished, and  no  one  again  durst  break  his  rank  ;  but 
the  younger  men  greatly  hated  Manlius  for  his 
severity,  and  gave  him  no  credit  for  the  agony  he 
had  concealed  while  giving  up  his  gallant  son  to  the 
well-being  of  Rome. 

A  few  days  after,  the  expected  battle  took  place, 
and  after  some  little  time  the  front  rank  of  Decius's 
men  began  to  fall  back  upon  the  line  in  their  rear. 
This  was  the  token  he  had  waited  for.  He  called 
to  Valerius,  the  chief  priest  of  Rome,  to  consecrate 
him,  and  was  directed  to  put  on  his  chief  robe  of 
office,  the  beautiful  purple  toga  fircetexta,  to  cover 
his  head,  and  standing  on  his  javelin,  call  aloud  to 
the  "  nine  gods  "  to  accept  his  devotion,  to  save  the 
Roman  legions,  and  strike  terror  into  his  enemies. 
This  done,  he  commanded  his  lictors  to  carry  word 
to  his  colleague  that  the  sacrifice  was  accomplished, 
and  then  girding  his  robe  round  him  in  the  manner 
adopted  in  sacrificing  to  the  gods,  he  mounted  his 
white  horse,  and  rushed  like  lightning  into  the 
thickest  of  the  Latins.  At  first  they  fell  away  on  all 
sides  as  if  some  heavenly  apparition  had  come  down 


68  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

on  them  ;  then,  as  some  recognized  him,  they  closed 
in  on  him,  and  pierced  his  breast  with  their  weap- 
ons ;  but  even  as  he  fell  the  superstition  that  a 
devoted  leader  was  sure  to  win  the  field,  came  full 
on  their  minds,  they  broke  and  fled.  Meanwhile, 
the  message  came  to  Manlius,  and  drew  from  him  a 
burst  of  tears,  —  tears  that  he  had  not  shed  for  his 
son,  —  his  hope  of  himself  meeting  the  docm  and 
ending  his  sorrow  was  gone  ;  but  none  the  less  he 
nerved  himself  to  complete  the  advantage  gained  by 
Decius's  death.  Only  one  wing  of  the  Latins  had 
fled,  the  other  fought  long  and  bravely  ;  and  when 
at  last  it  was  defeated,  and  cut  down  on  the  field  of 
battle,  both  conqueror  and  conquered  declared  that, 
if  Manlius  had  been  the  leader  of  the  Latins,  they 
would  have  had  the  victory.  Manlius  afterwards 
completely  subdued  the  Latins,  who  became  incor- 
porated with  the  Romans  ;  but  bravely  as  he  had 
borne  up,  his  health  gave  way  under  his  sorrow, 
and  before  the  end  of  the  year  he  was  unable  to 
take  the  field. 

Forty-five  years  later,  in  the  year  294,  another 
Decius  was  consul.  He  was  the  son  of  the  first 
devoted  Decius,  and  had  shown  himself  worthy  of 
his  name,  both  as  a  citizen  and  soldier.  His  first 
consulate  had  been  in  conjunction  with  one  of  the 
most  high-spirited  and  famous  Roman  nobles,  Ouin- 
tus  Fabius,  surnamed  Maximus,  or  the  Greatest, 
and  at  three  years'  end  they  were  again  chosen 
together,  when  the  Romans  had  been  brought  into 
considerable  peril  by  an  alliance  between  the  Gauls 
and  the  Sanmites,  their  chief  enemies  in  Italy. 

One  being  a  patrician  and  the  other  a  plebeian, 
there  was  every  attempt  made  at  Rome  to  stir  up 
jealousies  and  dissensions  between  them  ;  but  both 
were  much  too  noble  and  generous  to  be  thus  set 
one  against  the  other  ;  and  when  Fabius  found  how 
serious  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  Etruria,  he  sent  to 


The  Devotion  of  the  Decii.  69 

Rome  to  entreat  that  Decius  would  come  and  act 
with  him.  "  With  him  I  shall  never  want  forces, 
nor  have  too  many  enemies  to  deal  with." 

The  Gauls,  since  the  time  of  Brennus,  had  so  en- 
tirely settled  in  Northern  Italy,  that  it  had  acquired 
the  name  of  Cisalpine  Gaul,  and  they  were  as  war- 
like as  ever,  while  better  armed  and  trained.  The 
united  armies  of  Gauls,  Samnites,  and  their  allies, 
together  are  said  to  have  amounted  to  143,330  foot 
and  46,000  horse,  and  the  Roman  army  consisted  of 
four  legions,  24,000  in  all,  with  an  unspecified  num- 
ber of  horse.  The  place  of  battle  was  at  Sentinum, 
and  here  for  the  first  time  the  Gauls  brought  armed 
chariots  into  use,  —  probably  the  wicker  chariots, 
with  scythes  in  the  midst  of  the  clumsy  wooden 
wheels,  which  were  used  by  the  Kelts  in  Britain  two 
centuries  later.  It  was  the  first  time  the  Romans 
had  encountered  these  barbarous  vehicles  ;  they 
were  taken  by  surprise,  the  horses  started,  and 
could  not  be  brought  back  to  the  charge,  and  the 
legions  were  mowed  down  like  corn  where  the  furi- 
ous Gaul  impelled  his  scythe.  Decius  shouted  in 
vain,  and  tried  to  gather  his  men  and  lead  them 
back  ;  but  the  terror  at  this  new  mode  of  warfare 
had  so  mastered  them,  that  they  paid  no  attention 
to  his  call.  Then,  half  in  policy,  half  in  supersti- 
tion, he  resolved  to  follow  his  father  in  his  death. 
He  called  the  chief  priest,  Marcus  Livius,  and  stand- 
ing on  his  javelin,  went  through  the  same  formula 
of  self-dedication,  and  in  like  manner  threw  himself, 
alone  and  unarmed,  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy, 
among  whom  he  soon  fell  under  many  a  savage 
stroke.  The  priest,  himself  a  gallant  soldier,  called 
to  the  troops  that  their  victory  was  now  secured, 
and  thoroughly  believing  him,  they  let  him  lead 
them  back  to  the  charge,  and  routed  the  Gauls  ; 
whilst  Fabius  so  well  did  his  part  against  the  other 
nations,  that  the  victory  was  complete,  and  twenty- 


yo  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

five  thousand  enemies  were  slain.     So  covered  was 

the  body  of  Decius  by  the  corpses  of  his  enemies, 
that  all  that  day  it  could  not  be  found  ;  but  on  the 
next  it  was  discovered,  and  Fabius,  with  a  full  heart, 
pronounced  the  funeral  oration  of  the  second  De- 
cius, who  had  willingly  offered  himself  to  turn  the 
tide  of  battle  in  favor  of  his  country.  It  was  the 
last  of  such  acts  of  dedication,  —  the  Romans  be- 
came more  learned  and  philosophical,  and  perhaps 
more  reasonable  ;  and  yet.  mistaken  as  was  the  ob- 
ject, it  seems  a  falling  off  that,  two  hundred  years 
later,  Cicero  should  not  know  who  were  the  tv  nine 
gods  r'  of  the  Decii,  and  should  regard  their  sacri- 
fice as  -  heroic  indeed,  but  unworthy  of  men  of  un- 
derstanding." 


REGULUS. 
B.C.  249. 

THE  first  wars  that  the  Romans  engaged  in  be- 
yond the  bounds  of  Italy,  were  with  the  Car- 
thaginians. This  race  came  from  Tyre  and  Zidon  ; 
and  were  descended  from  some  of  the  Phoenicians, 
or  Zidonians,  who  were  such  dangerous  foes,  or  more 
dangerous  friends,  to  the  Israelites.  Carthage  had, 
as  some  say,  been  first  founded  by  some  of  the  Ca- 
naanites,  who  fled  when  Joshua  conquered  the  Prom- 
ised Land  ;  and  whether  this  were  so  or  not,  the  in- 
habitants were  in  all  their  ways  the  same  as  the 
Tyrians  and  Zidonians,  of  whom  so  much  is  said  in 
the  prophecies  of  Isaiah  and  Ezekiel.  Like  them, 
they  worshipped  Baal  and  Ashtoreth,  and  the  fright- 
ful Moloch,  with  foul  and  cruel  rites ;  and,  like  them, 
they  were  excellent  sailors  and  great  merchants,  trad- 
ing with  every  known  country,  and  living  in  great 
riches  and  splendor  at  their  grand  city  on  the  south- 
ern shore  of  the  Mediterranean.  That  they  were  a 
wicked  and  cruel  race  is  also  certain  ;  the  Romans 
used  to  call  deceit  Punic  faith,  that  is,  Phoenician 
faith,  and  though  no  doubt  Roman  writers  show 
them  up  in  their  worst  colors,  yet,  after  the  time 
of  Hiram,  Solomon's  ally  at  Tyre,  it  is  plain  from 
Holy  Scripture  that  their  crimes  were  great. 

The  first  dispute  between    Rome    and   Carthage 
was  about  their  possession  in  the  island  of  Sicily  ; 


72  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

and  the  war  thus  begun  had  lasted  eight  years,  when 
it  was  resolved  to  send  an  army  to  fight  the  Car- 
thaginians on  their  own  shores.  The  army  and  fleet 
were  placed  under  the  command  of  the  two  consuls, 
Lucius  Manlius  and  Marcus  Attilius  Regulus.  On 
the  way,  there  was  a  great  sea-fight  with  the  Car- 
thaginian fleet,  and  this  was  the  first  naval  battle  that 
the  Romans  ever  gained.  It  made  the  way  to  Africa 
free  ;  but  the  soldiers,  who  had  never  been  so  far 
from  home  before,  murmured,  for  they  expected  to 
meet  not  only  human  enemies,  but  monstrous  ser- 
pents, lions,  elephants,  asses  with  horns,  and  dog- 
headed  monsters,  to  have  a  scorching  sun  overhead, 
and  a  noisome  marsh  under  their  feet  However, 
Regulus  sternly  put  a  stop  to  all  murmurs,  by  mak- 
ing it  known  that  disaffection  would  be  punished 
by  death,  and  the  army  safely  landed,  and  set  up  a 
fortification  at  Clypea,  and  plundered  the  whole  coun- 
try round.  Orders  here  came  from  Rome  that  Man- 
lius should  return  thither,  but  that  Regulus  should 
remain  to  carry  on  the  war,  This  was  a  great  grief 
to  him.  He  was  a  very  poor  man,  with  nothing 
of  his  own  but  a  little  farm  of  seven  acres,  and  the 
person  whom  he  had  employed  to  cultivate  it  had 
died  in  his  absence  ;  a  hired  laborer  had  undertaken 
the  care  of  it,  but  had  been  unfaithful,  and  had  run 
away  with  his  tools  and  his  cattle  ;  so  that  he  was 
afraid  that,  unless  he  could  return  quickly,  his  wife 
and  children  would  starve.  However,  the  Senate 
engaged  to  provide  for  his  family,  and  he  remained, 
making  expeditions  into  the  country  round,  in  the 
course  of  which  the  Romans  really  did  fall  in  with 
a  serpent,  as  monstrous  as  their  imagination  had  de- 
picted. It  was  said  to  be  120  feet  long,  and  dwelt 
upon  the  banks  of  the  river  Bagrada,  where  it  used 
to  devour  the  Roman  soldiers  as  they  went  to  fetch 
water.  It  had  such  tough  scales  that  they  were 
obliged   to  attack  it  with    their  engines   meant  for 


Regulus.  JT> 

battering  city  walls,  and  only  succeeded  with  much 
difficulty  in  destroying  it. 

The  country  was  most  beautiful,  covered  with  fer- 
tile cornfields  and  full  of  rich  fruit-trees,  and  all  the 
rich  Carthaginians  had  country-houses  and  gardens, 
which  were  made  delicious  with  fountains,  trees, 
and  flowers.  The  Roman  soldiers,  plain,  hardy, 
fierce,  and  pitiless,  did,  it  must  be  feared,  cruel 
damage  among  these  peaceful  scenes  ;  they  boasted 
of  having  sacked  300  villages,  and  mercy  was  not 
yet  known  to  them.  The  Carthaginian  army, 
though  strong  in  horsemen  and  in  elephants,  kept 
upon  the  hills  and  did  nothing  to  save  the  country, 
and  the  wild  desert  tribes  of  Numidians  came  rush- 
ing in  to  plunder  what  the  Romans  had  left.  The 
Carthaginians  sent  to  offer  terms  of  peace  ;  but 
Regulus,  who  had  become  uplifted  by  his  con- 
quests, made  such  demands  that  the  messengers 
remonstrated.  He  answered,  "  Men  who  are  good 
for  anything  should  either  conquer  or  submit  to 
their  betters  "  ;  and  he  sent  them  rudely  away,  like 
a  stern  old  Roman  as  he  was.  His  merit  was  that 
he  had  no  more  mercy  on  himself  than  on  others. 

The  Carthaginians  were  driven  to  extremity,  and 
made  horrible  offerings  to  Moloch,  giving  the  little 
children  of  the  noblest  families  to  be  dropped  into 
the  fire  between  the  brazen  hands  of  his  statue,  and 
grown-up  people  of  the  noblest  families  rushed  in 
of  their  own  accord,  hoping  thus  to  propitiate  their 
gods,  and  obtain  safety  for  their  country.  Their 
time  was  not  yet  fully  come,  and  a  respite  was 
granted  to  them.  They  had  sent,  in  their  distress, 
to  hire  soldiers  in  Greece,  and  among  these  came  a 
Spartan,  named  Xanthippus,  who  at  once  took  the 
command,  and  led  the  army  out  to  battle,  with  a 
long  line  of  elephants  ranged  in  front  of  them,  and 
with  clouds  of  horsemen  hovering  on  the  wings. 
The  Romans  had  not  yet  learnt  the  best  mode  of 


74  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

fighting  with  elephants,  namely,  to  leave  lanes  in 
their  columns  where  these  huge  beasts  might  ad- 
vance harmlessly  ;  instead  of  which,  the  ranks  were 
thrust  and  trampled  down  by  the  creatures'  bulk, 
and  they  suffered  a  terrible  defeat ;  Regulus  him- 
self was  seized  by  the  horsemen,  and  dragged  into 
Carthage,  where  the  victors  feasted  and  rejoiced 
through  half  the  night,  and  testified  their  thanks  to 
Moloch  by  offering  in  his  fires  the  bravest  of  their 
captives. 

Regulus  himself  was  not,  however,  one  of  these 
victims.  He  was  kept  a  close  prisoner  for  two 
years,  pining  and  sickening  in  his  loneliness,  while 
in  the  meantime  the  war  continued,  and  at  last  a 
victory  so  decisive  was  gained  by  the  Romans,  that 
the  people  of  Carthage  were  discouraged,  and  re- 
solved to  ask  terms  of  peace.  They  thought  that 
no  one  would  be  so  readily  listened  to  at  Rome  as 
Regulus,  and  they  therefore  sent  him  there  with 
their  envoys,  having  first  made  him  swear  that  he 
would  come  back  to  his  prison  if  there  should  nei- 
ther be  peace  nor  an  exchange  of  prisoners.  They 
little  knew  how  much  more  a  true-hearted  Roman 
cared  for  his  city  than  for  himself,  —  for  his  word 
than  for  his  life. 

Worn  and  dejected,  the  captive  warrior  came  to 
the  outside  of  the  gates  of  his  own  city,  and  there 
paused,  refusing  to  enter.  "  I  am  no  longer  a  Ro- 
man citizen,"  he  said  ;  "  I  am  but  the  barbarians' 
slave,  and  the  Senate  may  not  give  audience  to 
strangers  within  the  walls." 

His  wife  Marcia  ran  out  to  greet  him,  with  his 
two  sons,  but  he  did  not  look  up,  and  received  their 
caresses  as  one  beneath  their  notice,  as  a  mere 
slave,  and  he  continued,  in  spite  of  all  entreaty,  to 
remain  outside  the  city,  and  would  not  even  go  to 
the  little  farm  he  had  loved  so  well. 

The  Roman  Senate,  as  he  would  not  come  in  to 


Regulus.  75 

them,  came  out  to  hold  their  meeting  in  the  Cam- 
pagna. 

The  ambassadors  spoke  first,  then  Regulus, 
standing  up,  said,  as  one  repeating  a  task,  "  Con- 
script fathers,  being  a  slave  to  the  Carthaginians,  I 
come  on  the  part  of  my  masters  to  treat  with  you 
concerning  peace,  and  an  exchange  of  prisoners." 
He  then  turned  to  go  away  with  the  ambassadors, 
as  a  stranger  might  not  be  present  at  the  delibera- 
tions of  the  Senate.  His  old  friends  pressed  him 
to  stay  and  give  his  opinion  as  a  senator  who  had 
twice  been  consul ;  but  he  refused  to  degrade  that 
dignity  by  claiming  it,  slave  as  he  was.  But,  at  the 
command  of  his  Carthaginian  masters,  he  remained, 
though  not  taking  his  seat. 

Then  he  spoke.  He  told  the  senators  to  per- 
severe in  the  war.  He  said  he  had  seen  the  distress 
of  Carthage,  and  that  a  peace  would  be  only  to  her 
advantage,  not  to  that  of  Rome,  and  therefore  he 
strongly  advised  that  the  war  should  continue. 
Then,  as  to  the  exchange  of  prisoners,  the  Cartha- 
ginian generals,  who  were  in  the  hands  of  the  Ro- 
mans, were  in  full  health  and  strength,  whilst  he 
himself  was  too  much  broken  down  to  be  fit  for  ser- 
vice again,  and  indeed  he  believed  that  his  enemies 
had  given  him  a  slow  poison,  and  that  he  could  not 
live  long.  Thus  he  insisted  that  no  exchange  of 
prisoners  should  be  made. 

It  was  wonderful,  even  to  Romans,  to  hear  a  man 
thus  pleading  against  himself,  and  their  chief  priest 
came  forward  and  declared  that,  as  his  oath  had 
been  wrested  from  him  by  force,  he  was  not  bound 
by  it  to  return  to  his  captivity.  But  Regulus  was 
too  noble  to  listen  to  this  for  a  moment.  "  Have 
you  resolved  to  dishonor  me  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  am 
not  ignorant  that  death  and  the  extremest  tortures 
are  preparing  for  me  ;  but  what  are  these  to  the 
shame  of  an  infamous  action,  or  the  wounds  of  a 


j6  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

guilty  mind  ?  Slave  as  I  am  to  Carthage,  I  have 
still  the  spirit  of  a  Roman.  I  have  sworn  to  return. 
It  is  my  duty  to  go  ;  let  the  gods  take  care  of  the 
rest." 

The  Senate  decided  to  follow  the  advice  of  Regu- 
lus,  though  they  bitterly  regretted  his  sacrifice.  His 
wife  wept  and  entreated  in  vain  that  they  would 
detain  him  ;  they  could  merely  repeat  their  permis- 
sion to  him  to  remain  ;  but  nothing  could  prevail 
with  him  to  break  his  word,  and  he  turned  back  to 
the  chains  and  death  he  expected  as  calmly  as  if  he 
had  been  returning  to  his  home.  This  was  in  the 
year  b.  c.  249. 

"  Let  the  gods  take  care  of  the  rest,"  said  the 
Roman  ;  the  gods  whom  alone  he  knew,  and  through 
whom  he  ignorantly  worshipped  the  true  God,  whose 
Light  was  shining  out  even  in  this  heathen's  truth 
and  constancy.  How  his  trust  was  fulfilled  is  not 
known.  The  Senate,  after  the  next  victory,  gave 
two  Carthaginian  generals  to  his  wife  and  sons  to 
hold  as  pledges  for  his  good  treatment ;  but  when 
tidings  arrived  that  Regulus  was  dead,  Marcia  began 
to  treat  them  both  with  savage  cruelty,  though  one  of 
them  assured  her  that  he  had  been  careful  to  have 
her  husband  well  used.  Horrible  stories  were  told 
that  Regulus  had  been  put  out  in  the  sun  with  his 
eyelids  cut  off,  rolled  clown  a  hill  in  a  barrel  with 
spikes,  killed  by  being  constantly  kept  awake,  or 
else  crucified.  Marcia  seems  to  have  set  about, 
and  perhaps  believed  in  these  horrors,  and  avenged 
them  on  her  unhappy  captives  till  one  had  died,  and 
the  Senate  sent  for  her  sons  and  severely  repri- 
manded them.  They  declared  it  was  their  mother's 
doing,  not  theirs,  and  thenceforth  were  careful  of  the 
comfort  of  the  remaining  prisoner. 

It  may  thus  be  hoped  that  the  frightful  tale  of 
Regulus's  sufferings  was  but  formed  by  report  acting 
on  the  fancy  of  a  vindictive  woman,  and  that  Regu- 


Regulus. 


77 


lus  was  permitted  to  die  in  peace  of  the  disease 
brought  on  far  more  probably  by  the  climate  and 
imprisonment,  than  by  the  poison  to  which  he 
ascribed  it.  It  is  not  the  tortures  he  may  have 
endured  that  make  him  one  of  the  noblest  charac- 
ters of  history,  but  the  resolution  that  would  neither 
let  him  save  himself  at  the  risk  of  his  country's 
prosperity,  nor  forfeit  the  word  that  he  had  pledged. 


THE  BRAVE  BRETHREN  OF  JUDAH. 


B.C.    1 80. 


IT  was  about  180  years  before  the  Christian  era. 
The  Jews  had  long  since  come  home  from  Baby- 
lon, and  built  up  their  city  and  Temple  at  Jerusa- 
lem. But  they  were  not  free  as  they  had  been  be- 
fore. Their  country  belonged  to  some  greater  power, 
they  had  a  foreign  governor  over  them,  and  had  to 
pay  tribute  to  the  king  who  was  their  master. 

At  the  time  we  are  going  to  speak  of,  this  king 
was  Antiochus  Epiphanes,  King  of  Syria.  He  was 
descended  from  one  of  those  generals  who,  upon  the 
death  of  Alexander  the  Great,  had  shared  the  East 
between  them,  and  he  reigned  over  all  the  country 
from  the  Mediterranean  Sea  even  into  Persia  and 
the  borders  of  India.  He  spoke  Greek,  and  believed 
in  both  the  Greek  and  Roman  gods,  for  he  had  spent 
some  time  at  Rome  in  his  youth  ;  but  in  his  Eastern 
kingdom  he  had  learnt  all  the  self-indulgent  and  vio- 
lent habits  to  which  people  in  those  hot  countries  are 
especially  tempted. 

He  was  so  fierce  and  passionate,  that  he  was  often 
called  the  u  Madman,"  and  he  was  very  cruel  to  all 
who  offended  him.  One  of  his  greatest  desires  was, 
that  the  Jews  should  leave  their  true  faith  in  one 
God,  and  do  like  the  Greeks  and  Syrians,  his  other 
subjects,  worship  the  same  idols,  and  hold  drunken 
feasts  in  their  honor.     Sad  to  say,  a  great  many  of 


The  B7'ave  Brethren  of  Judah.  79 

the  Jews  had  grown  ashamed  of  their  own  true  re- 
ligion and  the  strict  ways  of  their  law,  and  thought 
them  old-fashioned.  They  joined  in  the  Greek  sports, 
played  games  naked  in  the  theatre,  joined  in  riotous 
processions,  carrying  ivy  in  honor  of  Bacchus,  the 
god  of  wine,  and  offered  incense  to  the  idols  ;  and 
the  worst  of  all  these  was  the  false  high-priest,  Men- 
elaus,  who  led  the  King  Antiochus  into  the  Temple 
itself,  even  into  the  Holy  of  Holies,  and  told  him  all 
that  would  most  desecrate  it  and  grieve  the  Jews. 
So  a  little  altar  to  the  Roman  god  Jupiter  was  set 
up  on  the  top  of  the  great  brazen  altar  of  burnt-offer- 
ings, a  hog  was  offered  up,  and  broth  of  its  flesh 
sprinkled  everywhere  in  the  Temple  ;  then  all  the 
precious  vessels  were  seized,  the  shewbread  table 
of  gold,  the  candlesticks,  and  the  whole  treasury, 
and  carried  away  by  the  king  ;  the  walls  were 
thrown  down,  and  the  place  made  desolate. 

Some  Jews  were  still  faithful  to  their  God,  but 
they  were  horribly  punished  and  tortured  to  death 
before  the  eyes  of  the  king ;  and  when  at  last  he 
went  away  to  his  own  country,  taking  with  him  the 
wicked  high-priest  Menelaus,  he  left  behind  him  a 
governor  and  an  army  of  soldiers  stationed  in  the 
tower  of  Acra,  which  overlooked  the  Temple-hill, 
and  sent  for  an  old  man  from  Athens  to  teach  the 
people  the  heathen  rites  and  ceremonies.  Any  per- 
son who  observed  the  Sabbath-day,  or  any  other  or- 
dinance of  the  law  of  Moses,  was  put  to  death  in  a 
most  cruel  manner  ;  all  the  books  of  the  Old  Tes- 
tament Scripture  that  could  be  found  were  either 
burnt  or  defiled,  by  having  pictures  of  Greek  gods 
painted  upon  them  ;  and  the  heathen  priests  went 
from  place  to  place,  with  a  little  brazen  altar  and 
image  and  a  guard  of  soldiers,  who  were  to  kill  every 
person  who  refused  to  burn  incense  before  the  idol. 
It  was  the  very  saddest  time  that  the  Jews  had  ever 
known,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  help  near  or  far 


8o  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

off;  they  could  have  no  hope,  except  in  the  promises 
that  God  would  never  fail  His  people,  or  forsake 
His  inheritance,  and  in  the  prophecies  that  bad 
times  should  come,  but  good  ones  after  them. 

The  Greeks,  in  going  through  the  towns  to  en- 
force the  idol  worship,  came  to  a  little  city  called 
Modin,  somewhere  on  the  hills  on  the  coast  of  the 
Mediterranean  Sea,  not  far  from  Joppa.  There  they 
sent  out,  as  usual,  orders  to  all  the  men  of  the  town 
to  meet  them  in  the  market-place  ;  but  they  were 
told  beforehand,  that  the  chief  person  in  the  place 
was  an  old  man  named  Mattathias,  of  a  priestly  fam- 
ily, and  so  much  respected,  that  all  the  other  inhab- 
itants of  the  place  were  sure  to  do  whatever  he  might 
lead  them  in.  So  the  Greeks  sent  for  him  first'of 
all,  and  he  came  at  their  summons,  a  grand  and  no-  ^ 
ble  old  man,  followed  by  his  five  sons,  Johanan,  Si- 
mon, Judas,  Jonathan,  and  Eleazar.  The  Greek 
priest  tried  to  talk  him  over.  He  told  him  that  the 
high-priest  had  forsaken  the  Jewish  superstition, 
that  the  Temple  was  in  ruins,  and  that  resistance 
was  in  vain  ;  and  exhorted  him  to  obtain  gratitude 
and  honor  for  himself,  by  leading  his  countrymen 
in  thus  adoring  the  deities  of  the  king's  choice, 
promising  him  rewards  and  treasures  if  he  would 
comply. 

But  the  old  man  spoke  out  with  a  loud  and  fear- 
less voice  :  "  Though  all  the  nations  that  are  under 
the  king's  dominion  obey  him,  and  fall  away  every 
one  from  the  religion  of  their  fathers,  and  give  con- 
sent to  his  commandments  ;  yet  will  I  and  my  sons 
and  my  brethren  walk  in  the  covenant  of  our  fathers. 
God  forbid  that  we  should  forsake  the  law  and  the 
ordinances  !  We  will  not  hearken  to  the  king's 
words,  to  go  from  our  religion,  either  on  the  right 
hand  or  the  left !  " 

As  he  spoke  up  came  an  apostate  Jew  to  do  sac- 
rifice at  the  heathen  altar.     Mattathias  trembled  at 


The  Brave  Brethren  of  Judah.  8 1 

the  sight,  and  his  zeal  broke  forth.  He  slew  the  of- 
fender, and  his  brave  sons  gathering  round  him, 
they  attacked  the  Syrian  soldiers,  killed  the  commis- 
sioner, and  threw  down  the  altar.  Then,  as  they 
knew  that  they  could  not  there  hold  out  against  the 
king's  power,  Mattathias  proclaimed  through  the 
city  :  "  Whosoever  is  zealous  of  the  law,  and  main- 
taineth  the  covenant,  let  him  follow  me  !  "  With 
that,  he  and  his  five  sons,  with  their  families,  left 
their  houses  and  lands,  and  drove  their  cattle  with 
them  up  into  the  wild  hills  and  caves,  where  David 
had  once  made  his  home  ;  and  all  the  Jews  who 
wished  to  be  still  faithful,  gathered  round  them,  to 
worship  God  and  keep  his  commandments. 

There  they  were,  a  handful  of  brave  men  in  the 
mountains,  and  all  the  heathen  world  and  apostate 
Jews  against  them.  They  used  to  come  down  into 
the  villages,  remind  the  people  of  the  law,  promise 
their  help,  and  throw  down  any  idol  altars  that  they 
found,  and  the  enemy  never  were  able  to  follow  them 
into  their  rocky  strongholds.  But  the  old  Matta- 
thias could  not  long  bear  the  rude  wild  life  in  the 
cold  mountains,  and  he  soon  died.  First  he  called 
all  his  five  sons,  and  bade  them  to  "  be  zealous  for 
the  law,  and  give  their  lives  for  the  covenant  of  their 
fathers  "  ;  and  he  reminded  them  of  all  the  many 
brave  men  who  had  before  served  God,  and  been 
aided  in  their  extremity.  He  appointed  his  son  Ju- 
das, as  the  strongest  and  mightiest,  to  lead  his 
brethren  to  battle,  and  Simon,  as  the  wisest,  to  be 
their  counsellor  ;  then  he  blessed  them  and  died  ; 
and  his  sons  were  able  to  bury  him  in  the  tomb  of 
his  fathers  at  Modin. 

Judas  was  one  of  the  bravest  men  who  ever  lived  ; 
never  dreading  the  numbers  that  came  against  him. 
He  was  surnamed  Maccabeus,  which  some  people 
say  meant  the  hammerer  ;  but  others  think  it  was 
made  up  of  the  first  letters  of  the  words  he  carried 
6 


82  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

on  his  banner,  which  meant  "  Who  is  like  unto 
Thee,  among  the  gods,  O  Lord  ?  "  Altogether  he 
had  about  six  thousand  men  round  him  when  the 
Greek  governor,  Apollonius,  came  out  to  fight  with 
him.  The  Jews  gained  here  their  first  great  victory, 
and  Judas  killed  Apollonius,  took  his  sword,  and 
fought  all  his  other  battles  with  it.  Next  came  a 
captain  called  Seron,  who  went  out  to  the  hills  to 
lay  hold  of  the  bold  rebels  that  dared  to  rise  against 
the  King  of  Syria.  The  place  where  Judas  met  him 
was  one  to  make  the  Jews'  hearts  leap  with  hope 
and  trust.  It  was  on  the  steep  stony  broken  hill- 
side of  Beth-horon,  the  very  place  where  Joshua  had 
conquered  the  five  kings  of  the  Amorites,  in  the  first 
battle  on  the  coming  in  of  the  children  of  Israel  to 
Palestine.  There  was  the  rugged  path  where  Joshua 
had  stood  and  called  out  to  the  sun  to  stand  still  in 
Gibeon,  and  the  moon  in  the  valley  of  Ajalon.  Mir- 
acles were  over,  and  Judas'  looked  for  no  wonder  to 
help  him  ;  but  when  he  came  up  the  mountain  road 
from  Joppa,  his  heart  was  full  of  the  same  trust  as 
Joshua's,  and  he  won  another  great  victory. 

By  this  time  King  Antiochus  began  to  think  the 
rising  of  the  Jews  a  serious  matter,  but  he  could  not 
come  himself  against  them,  because  his  provinces  in 
Armenia  and  Persia  had  refused  their  tribute,  and 
he  had  to  go  in  person  to  reduce  them.  He  ap- 
pointed, however,  a  governor,  named  Lysias,  to  chas- 
tise the  Jews,  giving  him  an  army  of  40,000  foot  and 
7,000  horse.  Half  of  these  Lysias  sent  on  before 
him,  with  two  captains,  named  Nicanor  and  Gorgias, 
thinking  that  these  would  be  more  than  enough  to 
hunt  down  and  crush  the  little  handful  that  were 
lurking  in  the  hills.  And  with  them  came  a  great 
number  of  slave-merchants,  who  had  bargained  with 
Nicanor  that  they  should  have  ninety  Jews  for  one 
talent,  to  sell  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  by  whom 
Jewish  slaves  were  much  esteemed. 


The  Brave  Brethren  of  Judah.  83 

There  was  great  terror  in  Palestine  at  these  ti- 
dings, and  many  of  the  weaker-minded  fell  away  from 
Judas  ;  but  he  called  all  the  faithful  together  at  Miz- 
peh,  the  same  place  where,  1,000  years  before,  Sam- 
uel had  collected  the  Israelites,  and,  after  prayer  and 
fasting,  had  sent  them  forth  to  free  their  country 
from  the  Philistines.  Shiloh,  the  sanctuary,  was 
then  lying  desolate,  just  as  Jerusalem  now  lay  in 
ruins  ;  and  yet  better  times  had  come.  But  very 
mournful  was  that  fast  day  at  Mizpeh,  as  the  Jews 
looked  along  the  hillside  to  their  own  holy  moun- 
tain crowned  by  no  white  marble  and  gold  Temple 
flashing  back  the  sunbeams,  but  only  with  the  tall 
castle  of  their  enemies  towering  over  the  precipice. 
They  could  not  sacrifice,  because  a  sacrifice  could 
only  be  made  at  Jerusalem,  and  the  only  book  of  the 
Scriptures  that  they  had  to  read  from  was  painted 
over  with  the  hateful  idol  figures  of  the  Greeks. 
And  the  huge  army  of  enemies  was  ever  coming 
nearer !  The  whole  assembly  wept,  and  put  on 
sackcloth  and  prayed  aloud  for  help,  and  then  there 
wis  a  loud  sounding  of  trumpets,  and  Judas  stood 
forth  before  them.  And  he  made  the  old  proclama- 
tion that  Moses  had  long  ago  decreed,  that  no  one 
should  go  out  to  bittle  who  was  building  a  house, 
or  planting  a  vineyard,  or  had  just  betrotlied  a  wife, 
or  who  was  fearful  and  faint-hearted.  All  these 
were  to  go  home  again.  Judas  had  6  000  followers 
when  he  made  this  proclamation.  He  had  only 
3,000  at  the  end  of  the  day,  and  they  were  but  poorly 
armed.  He  told  them  of  the  former  aid  that  had 
come  to  their  fathers  in  extremity,  and  made  them 
bold  with  his  noble  words.  Then  he  gave  them  for 
their  watchword  "  the  help  of  God,"  and  divided  the 
leadership  of  the  band  between  himself  and  his 
brothers,  appointing  Eleazar,  the  youngest,  to  read 
the  Holy  Book. 

With  these  valiant  men  Judas  set  up  his  camp ; 


84  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

but  tidings  were  soon  brought  him  that  Gorgias. 
with   5,000  foot  and   1,000  horse,  had  left  the  main 

body  to  fall  on  his  little  camp  by  night.  He  there- 
fore secretly  left  the  place  in  the  twilight  ;  so  that 
when  the  enemy  attacked  his  camp,  they  found  it 
deserted,  and  supposing  them  to  be  hid  in  the  moun- 
tains, proceeded  thither  in  pursuit  of  them. 

But  in  the  early  morning  Judas  and  his  3.000 
men  were  all  in  battle  array  in  the  plains,  and 
marching  full  upon  the  enemy's  camp  with  trum- 
pet sound,  took  them  by  surprise  in  the  absence 
of  Gorgias  and  his  choice  troops,  and  utterly  de- 
feated and  put  them  to  flight,  but  without  pursu- 
ing them,  since  the  fight  with  Gorgias  and  his  five- 
thousand  might  be  yet  to  come.  Even  as  Judas 
was  reminding  his  men  of  this.  Gorgias's  troops 
were  seen  looking  down  from  the  mountains  where 
they  had  been  wandering  all  night  ;  but  seeing  their 
own  camp  all  smoke  and  flame,  they  turned  and  fled 
away.  Nine  thousand  of  the  invaders  had  been 
slain,  and  the  whole  camp,  full  of  arms  and  treas- 
ures, was  in  the  hands  of  Judas,  who  there  rested 
for  a  Sabbath  of  glad  thanksgiving,  and  the  next 
day  parted  the  spoil,  first  putting  out  the  share  for 
the  widows  and  orphans  and  the  wounded,  and  then 
dividing  the  rest  among  his  warriors.  As  to  the 
slave-merchants,  they  were  all  made  prisoners,  and 
instead  of  giving  a  talent  for  ninety  Jews,  were  sold 
themselves. 

The  next  year  Lvsias  came  himself,  but  was 
driven  back  and  defeated  at  Bethshur.  four  or  five 
miles  south  of  Bethlehem.  And  now  came  the 
saddest,  yet  the  greatest,  day  of  Judas's  life,  when 
he  ventured  to  go  back  into  the  holy  city  and  take 
possession  of  the  Temple  again.  The  strong  tower 
of  Acra.  which  stood  on  a  ridge  of  Mount  Moriah 
looking  down  on  the  Temple  rock,  was  still  held  by 
the  Svrians.  and  he  had  no  means  of  taking  it  ;  but 


The  Brave  Brethren  of  Judah.  85 

he  and  his  men  loved  the  sanctuary  too  well  to  keep 
away  from  it,  and  again  they  marched  up  the  steps 
and  slopes  that  led  up  the  holy  hill.  They  went  up 
to  find  the  walls  broken,  the  gates  burnt,  the  clois- 
ters and  priests'  chambers  pulled  down,  and  the 
courts  thickly  grown  with  grass  and  shrubs,  the 
altar  of  their  one  true  God  with  the  false  idol  Jupi- 
ter's altar  in  the  middle  of  it.  These  warriors,  who 
had  turned  three  armies  to  flight,  could  not  bear  the 
sight.  They  fell  down  on  their  faces,  threw  dust  on 
their  heads,  and  wept  aloud  for  the  desolation  of 
their  holy  place.  But  in  the  midst  Judas  caused 
the  trumpets  to  sound  an  alarm.  They  were  to  do 
something  besides  grieving.  The  bravest  of  them 
were  set  to  keep  watch  and  ward  against  the  Syrians 
in  the  tower,  while  he  chose  out  the  most  faithful 
priests  to  cleanse  out  the  sanctuary,  and  renew  all 
that  could  be  renewed,  making  new  holy  vessels 
from  the  spoil  taken  in  Nicanor's  camp,  and  setting 
the  stones  of  the  profaned  altar  apart  while  a  new 
one  was  raised.  On  the  third  anniversary  of  the 
great  profanation,  the  Temple  was  newly  dedicated, 
with  songs  and  hymns  of  rejoicing,  and  a  festival 
day  was  appointed,  which  has  been  observed  by  the 
Jews  ever  since.  The  Temple  rock  and  city  were 
again  fortified  so  as  to  be  able  to  hold  out  against 
their  enemies,  and  this  year  and  the  next  were  the 
most  prosperous  of  the  life  of  the  loyal-hearted 
Maccabee. 

The  great  enemy  of  the  Jews,  Antiochus  Epipha- 
nes,  was  in  the  mean  time  dying  in  great  agony 
in  Persia,  and  his  son,  Antiochus  Eupator,  was  set 
on  the  throne  by  Lysias,  who  brought  him  with  an 
enormous  army  to  reduce  the  rising  in  Judea.  The 
fight  was  again  at  Bethshur,  where  Judas  had  built 
a  strong  fort  on  a  point  of  rock  that  guarded  the 
road  to  Hebron.  Lysias  tried  to  take  this  fort,  and 
Judas  came  to  the  rescue  with  his  little  army,  to 
meet  the  far  mightier  Syrian  force,  which  was  made 


86  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

more  terrific  by  possessing  thirty  war  elephants  im- 
ported from  the  Indian  frontier.  Each  of  these 
creatures  carried  a  tower  containing  thirty-two  men 
armed  with  darts  and  javelins,  and  an  Indian  driver 
on  his  neck  ;  and  they  had  1.000  foot  and  500  horse 
attached  to  the  special  following  of  the  beast,  who, 
gentle  as  he  was  by  nature,  often  produced  a  fear- 
ful effect  en  the  enemy  ;  not  so  much  by  his  huge 
bulk  as  by  the  terror  he  inspired  among  men,  and 
far  more  among  horses.  The  whole  host  was  spread 
over  the  mountains,  and  in  the  valleys,  so  that  it 
is  said  that  their  bright  armor  and  gold  and  silver' 
shields  made  the  mountain  glisten  like  lamps  of 
fire. 

Still  Judas  pressed  on  to  the  attack,  and  his 
brother  Eleazar,  perceiving  that  one  of  the  ele- 
phants was  more  adorned  than  the  rest,  thought  it 
might  be  carrying  the  king,  and  devoted  himself  for 
his  country.  He  fought  his  way  to  the  monster, 
crept  under  it.  and  stabbed  it  from  beneath,  so  that 
the  mighty  weight  sank  down  on  him  and  crushed 
him  to  death  in  his  fall.  He  gained  a  "  perpetual 
name "  for  valor  and  self-devotion  ;  but  the  king 
was  not  upon  the  elephant,  and  after  a  hard-fought 
battle,  Judas  was  obliged  to  draw  off  and  leave 
Bethshur  to  be  taken  by  the  enemy,  and  to  shut 
himself  up  in  Jerusalem. 

There,  want  of  provisions  had  brought  him  to 
great  distress,  when  tidings  came  that  another  son 
of  Antiochus  Epiphanes  had  claimed  the  throne, 
and  Lysias  made  peace  in  haste  with  Judas,  prom- 
ising him  full  liberty  of  worship,  and  left  Palestine 
in  peace. 

This  did  not,  however,  last  long.  Lysias  and  his 
young  master  were  slain  by  the  new  king,  Deme- 
trius, who  again  sent  an  army  for  the  subjection  of 
Judas,  and  further  appointed  a  high-priest,  named 
Alcimus,  of  the  family  of  Aaron,  but  inclined  to 
favor  the  new  heathen  fashions. 


The  Brave  Brethren  of  Judah.  87 

This  was  the  most  fatal  thing  that  had  happened 
to  Judas.  Though  of  the  priestly  line,  he  was  so 
much  of  a  warrior,  that  he  seems  to  have  thought 
it  would  be  profane  to  offer  sacrifice  himself;  and 
many  of  the  Jews  were  so  glad  of  another  high- 
priest,  that  they  let  Alcimus  into  the  Temple,  and 
Jerusalem  was  again  lost  to  Judas.  One  more  bat- 
tle was  won  by  him  at  Beth-horon,  and  then,  finding 
how  hard  it  was  to  make  head  against  the  Syrians, 
he  sent  to  ask  the  aid  of  the  great  Roman  power. 
But  long  before  the  answer  could  come,  a  huge  Sy- 
rian army  had  marched  in  on  the  Holy  Land,  20,000 
men,  and  Judas  had  again  no  more  than  3,000. 
Some  had  gone  over  to  Alcimus,  some  were  of- 
fended at  his  seeking  Roman  alliance,  and  when 
at  Eleasah  he  came  in  sight  of  the  host,  his  men's 
hearts  failed  more  than  ever  they  had  done  before, 
and,  out  of  the  3,000  at  first  collected,  only  800 
stood  with  him,  and  they  would  fain  have  per- 
suaded him  to  retreat. 

•'  God  forbid  that  I  should  do  this  thing,"  he  said, 
"and  flee  away  from  them.  If  our  time  be  come, 
let  us  die  manfully  for  our  brethren,  and  let  us  not 
stain  our  honor." 

Sore  was  the  battle,  as  sore  as  that  waged  by  the 
800  at  Thermopylae,  and  the  end  was  the  same. 
Judas  and  his  800  were  not  driven  from  the  field, 
but  lay  dead  upon  it.  But  their  work  was  done. 
What  is  called  the  moral  effect  of  such  a  defeat 
goes  further  than  many  a  victory.  Those  lives, 
sold  so  dearly,  were  the  price  of  freedom  for  Judaea. 

Judas's  brothers  Jonathan  and  Simon  laid  him  in 
his  father's  tomb,  and  then  ended  the  work  that  he 
had  begun  ;  and  when  Simon  died,  the  Jews,  once 
so  trodden  on,  were  the  most  prosperous  race  in 
the  East.  The  Temple  was  raised  from  its  ruins, 
and  the  exploits  of  the  Maccabees  had  nerved  the 
whole  people  to  do  or  die  in  defence  of  the  holy 
faith  of  their  fathers. 


THE   CHIEF   OF   THE   ARVERNI. 

B.  C.    52. 

WE  have  seen  the  Gauls  in  the  heart  of  Rome, 
we  have  now  to  see  them  showing  the  last 
courage  of  despair,  defending  their  native  lands 
against  the  greatest  of  all  the  conquerors  that  Rome 
ever  sent  forth. 

These  lands,  where  they  had  dwelt  for  so  many- 
years  as  justly  to  regard  them  as  their  inheritance, 
were  Gaul.  There  the  Celtic  race  had  had  their 
abode  ever  since  history  has  spoken  clearly,  and  had 
become,  in  Gaul  especially,  slightly  more  civilized, 
from  intercourse  with  the  Greek  colony  at  Massilia, 
or  Marseilles.  But  they  had  become  borderers  upon 
the  Roman  dominions,  and  there  was  little  chance 
that  they  would  not  be  absorbed  ;  the  tribes  of  Pro- 
vence, the  first  Roman  province,  were  already  con- 
quered, others  were  in  alliance  with  Rome,  and  some 
had  called  in  the  Romans  to  help  them  fight  their 
battles.  There  is  no  occasion  to  describe  the  seven 
years'  war  by  which  Julius  Cassar  added  Gaul  to  the 
provinces  claimed  by  Rome,  and  when  he  visited 
Britain  ;  such  conquests  are  far  from  being  Golden 
Deeds,  but  are  far  worthier  of  the  iron  age.  It  is 
the  stand  made  by  the  losing  party,  and  the  true 
patriotism  of  one  young  chieftain,  that  we  would 
wish  here  to  dwell  upon. 

In  the  sixth  year  of  the  war  the  conquest  seemed 


The  Chief  of  the  Arverni.  89 

to  have  been  made,  and  the  Roman  legions  were 
guarding  the  north  and  west,  while  Caesar  himself 
had  crossed  the  Alps.  Subjection  pressed  heavily 
on  the  Gauls,  some  of  their  chiefs  had  been  put  to 
death,  and  the  high  spirit  of  the  nation  was  stirred. 
Meetings  took  place  between  the  warriors  of  the 
various  tribes,  and  an  oath  was  taken  by  those  who 
inhabited  the  centre  of  the  country,  that  if  they  once 
revolted,  they  would  stand  by  one  another  to  the 
last.  These  Gauls  were  probably  not  tall,  bony 
giants,  like  the  pillagers  of  Rome  ;  their  appearance 
and  character  would  be  more  like  that  of  the  modern 
Welsh,  or  of  their  own  French  descendants,  small, 
alert,  and  dark-eyed,  full  of  fire,  but,  though  fierce 
at  the  first  onset,  soon  rebuffed,  yet  with  much  per- 
severance, in  the  long  run.  Their  worship  was  con- 
ducted by  Druids,  like  that  of  the  Britons,  and  their 
dress  was  of  checked  material,  formed  into  a  loose 
coat  and  wide  trousers.  The  superior  chiefs,  who 
had  had  any  dealings  with  Rome,  would  speak  a  lit- 
tle Latin,  and  have  a  few  Roman  weapons  as  great 
improvements  upon  their  own.  Their  fortifications 
were  wonderfully  strong.  Trunks  of  trees  were  laid 
on  the  ground  at  two  feet  apart,  so  that  the  depth  of 
the  wall  was  their  full  length.  Over  these  another 
tier  of  beams  was  laid  crosswise,  and  the  space  be- 
tween was  filled  up  with  earth,  and  the  outside  faced 
with  large  stones  ;  the  building  of  earth  and  stone 
was  carried  up  to  some  height,  then  came  another 
tier  of  timbers,  crossed  as  before,  and  this  was  re- 
peated again  to  a  considerable  height,  the  inner  ends 
of  the  beams  being  fastened  to  a  planking  within 
the  wall,  so  that  the  whole  was  of  immense  com- 
pactness. Fire  could  not  damage  the  mineral  part 
of  the  construction,  nor  the  battering  ram  hurt  the 
wood,  and  the  Romans  had  been  often  placed  in 
great  difficulties  by  these  rude  but  admirable  con- 
structions, within  which  the  Gauls  placed  their  fam- 


90  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

ilies  and  cattle,  building  huts  for  present  shelter. 
Of  late,  some  attempts  had  been  made  at  copying 
the  regular  streets  and  houses  built  round  courts 
that  were  in  use  among  the  Romans,  and  Roman 
colonies  had  been  established  in  various  places, 
where  veteran  soldiers  had  received  grants  of  land 
on  condition  of  keeping  the  natives  in  check.  A 
growing  taste  for  arts  and  civilization  was  leading  to 
Romans  of  inferior  classes  settling  themselves  in 
other  Gallic  cities. 

The  first  rising  of  the  Gauls  began  by  a  quarrel  at 
the  city  we  now  call  Orleans,  ending  in  a  massacre 
of  all  the  Romans  there.  The  tidings  were  spread 
through  all  the  country  by  loud  shouts,  repeated 
from  one  to  the  other  by  men  stationed  on  every 
hill,  and  thus  what  had  been  done  at  Orleans  at 
sunrise  was  known  by  nine  at  night  160  miles  off 
among  the  mountains,  which  were  then  the  homes 
of  a  tribe  called  by  the  Romans  the  Arverni,  who 
have  left  their  name  to  the  province  of  Auvergne. 

Here  dwelt  a  young  chieftain,  probably  really 
called  Fearcuincedorigh,  or  Man  who  is  chief  of  a 
hundred  heads,  known  to  us  by  Caesar's  version  of 
his  name,  as  Vercingetorix,  a  high-spirited  youth, 
who  keenly  felt  the  servitude  of  his  country,  and 
who,  on  receiving  these  tidings,  instantly  called  on 
his  friends  to  endeavor  to  shake  off  the  yoke.  His 
uncle,  who  feared  to  provoke  Roman  vengeance, 
expelled  him  from  the  chief  city,  Gergovia,  the  re- 
mains of  which  may  be  traced  on  the  mountain  still 
called  Gergoie,  about  six  miles  from  Clermont ;  but 
he  collected  all  the  younger  and  more  high-spirited 
men,  forced  a  way  into  the  city,  and  was  proclaimed 
chief  of  his  tribe.  All  the  neighboring  tribes  joined 
in  the  league  against  the  common  enemy,  and  ti- 
dings were  brought  to  Caesar  that  the  whole  country 
round  the  Loire  was  in  a  state  of  revolt. 

In  the  heart  of  winter  he  hurried  back,  and  took 


The  Chief  of  the  Arverni.  91 

the  Gauls  by  surprise  by  crossing  the  snows  that 
lay  thick  on  the  wild  waste  of  the  Cebenna,  which 
the  Arverni  had  always  considered  as  their  impen- 
etrable barrier  throughout  the  winter.  The  towns 
quickly  fell  into  his  hands,  and  he  was  rapidly  re- 
covering all  he  had  lost,  when  Vercingetorix,  col- 
lecting his  chief  supporters,  represented  to  them 
that  their  best  hope  would  be  in  burning  all  the  in- 
habited places  themselves  and  driving  off  all  the 
cattle,  then  lying  in  wait  to  cut  off  all  the  convoys 
of  provisions  that  should  be  sent  to  the  enemy,  and 
thus  starving  them  into  a  retreat.  He  said  that 
burning  houses  were  indeed  a  grievous  sight,  but 
it  would  be  still  more  grievous  to  see  their  wives 
and  children  dragged  into  captivity.  To  this  all  the 
allies  agreed,  and  twenty  towns  in  one  district  were 
burnt  in  a  single  day  ;  but  when  they  came  to  the 
city  of  Avaricum,  now  called  Bourges,  the  tribe  of 
Bituriges,  to  whom  it  belonged,  entreated  on  their 
knees  not  to  be  obliged  to  destroy  the  most  beau- 
tiful city  in  the  country,  representing  that,  as  it  had 
a  river  on  one  side,  and  a  morass  everywhere  else, 
except  at  a  very  narrow  entrance,  it  might  be  easily 
held  out  against  the  enemy,  and  to  their  entreaties 
Vercingetorix  yielded,  though  much  against  his  own 
judgment. 

Caesar  laid  siege  to  the  place,  but  his  army  suf- 
fered severely  from  cold  and  hunger  ;  they  had  no 
bread  at  all,  and  lived  only  on  the  cattle  driven  in 
from  distant  villages,  while  Vercingetorix  hovered 
round,  cutting  off  their  supplies.  They  however 
labored  diligently  to  raise  a  mount  against  the  wall 
of  the  town  ;  but  as  fast  as  they  worked,  the  higher 
did  the  Gauls  within  raise  the  stages  of  their  ram- 
part, and  for  twenty-five  days  there  was  a  most  brave 
defence  ;  but  at  last  the  Romans  made  their  entrance, 
and  slaughtered  all  they  found  there,  except  800, 
who  escaped  to  the  camp  of  Vercingetorix.     He  was 


92  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

not  disconcerted  by  this  loss,  which  he  had  always 
expected,  but  sheltered  and  clothed  the  fugitives, 
and  raised  a  great  body  of  archers  and  of  horsemen, 
with  whom  he  returned  to  his  own  territory  in  Au- 
vergne.  There  was  much  fighting  around  the  city 
of  Gergovia  :  but  at  length,  owing  to  the  revolt  of 
the  yEdui,  another  Gallic  tribe,  Caesar  was  forced  to 
retreat  over  the  Loire  ;  and  the  wild  peaks~\)f  vol- 
canic Auvergne  were  free  again. 

But  no  gallant  resolution  could  long  prevail  against 
the  ever-advancing  power  of  Rome,  and  at  length 
the  Gauls  were  driven  into  their  fortified  camp  at 
Alesia,  now  called  Alise,*  a  city  standing  on  a  high 
hill,  with  two  rivers  flowing  round  its  base,  and  a 
plain  in  front  about  three  miles  wide.  Everywhere 
else  it  was  circled  in  by  high  hills,  and  here  Caesar 
resolved  to  shut  these  brave  men  in  and  bring  them 
to  bay.  He  caused  his  men  to  begin  that  mighty 
system  of  earthworks  by  which  the  Romans  carried 
on  their  attacks,  compassing  their  victim  round  on 
every  side  with  a  deadly  slowness  and  sureness, 
by  those  broad  ditches  and  terraced  ramparts  that 
everywhere  mark  where  their  foot  of  iron  has  trod. 
Eleven  miles  round  did  this  huge  rampart  extend, 
strengthened  by  three-and-twenty  redoubts,  or  places 
of  defence,  where  a  watch  was  continually  kept.  Be- 
fore the  lines  were  complete,  Vercingetorix  brought 
out  his  cavalry,  and  gave  battle,  at  one  time  with  a 
hope  of  success  ;  but  the  enemy  were  too  strong  for 
him,  and  his  horsemen  were  driven  into  the  camp. 
He  then  resolved  to  send  home  all  of  these,  since 
they  could  be  of  no  use  in  the  camp,  and  had  better 
escape  before  the  ditch  should  have  shut  them  in  on 
every  side.  He  charged  them  to  go  to  their  several 
tribes  and  endeavor  to  assemble  all  the  fighting  men 
to  come  to  his  rescue  ;  for,  if  he  were  not  speedily 

*  In  Burgundy,  between  Scmur  and  Dijon. 


The  Chief  of  the  Arverni.  93 

succored,  he  and  eighty  thousand  of  the  bravest  of 
the  Gauls  must  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Romans, 
since  he  had  only  corn  for  thirty  days,  even  with  the 
utmost  saving. 

Having  thus  exhorted  them,  he  took  leave  of 
them,  and  sent  them  away  at  nine  at  night,  so  that 
they  might  escape  in  the  dark  where  the  Roman 
trench  had  not  yet  extended.  Then  he  distributed 
the  cattle  among  his  men,  but  retained  the  corn  him- 
self, serving  it  out  with  the  utmost  caution.  The 
Romans  outside  fortified  their  camp  with  a  double 
ditch,  one  of  them  full  of  water,  behind  which  was  a 
bank  twelve  feet  high,  with  stakes  forked  like  the 
horns  of  a  stag.  The  space  between  the  ditches 
was  filled  with  pits,  and  scattered  with  iron  caltrops 
or  hooked  spikes.  All  this  was  against  the  garrison, 
to  prevent  them  from  breaking  out ;  and  outside  the 
camp  he  mide  another  line  of  ditches  and  ramparts 
against  the  Gauls  who  might  be  coming  to  the 
rescue. 

The  other  tribes  were  not  deaf  to  the  summons 
of  their  friends,  but  assembled  in  large  numbers, 
and  just  as  the  besieged  had  exhausted  their  pro- 
visions, an  army  was  seen  on  the  hills  beyond  the 
camp.  Their  commander  was  Vergosillaunus  (most 
probably  Fearsaighan,  the  Man  of  the  Standard),  a 
neir  kinsman  of  Vercingetorix  ;  and  all  that  bravery 
could  do  they  did  to  break  through  the  defences  of 
the  camp  from  outside,  while  within,  Vercingetorix 
and  his  eighty  thousand  tried  to  fill  up  the  ditches 
and  force  their  way  out  to  meet  their  friends.  But 
Caesar  himself  commanded  the  Romans,  who  were 
confident  in  his  fortunes,  and  raised  a  shout  of  ec- 
stacy  wherever  they  beheld  his  thin,  marked,  eagle 
face  and  purple  robe,  rushing  on  the  enemy  with  a 
confidence  of  victory  that  did  in  fact  render  them 
invincible.  The  Gauls  gave  way,  lost  seventy-four 
of  their  standards,  and  Vergosillaunus  himself  was 


94  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

taken  prisoner  ;  and  as  for  the  brave  garrison  within 
Alesia,  they  were  but  like  so  many  flies  struggling 
in  vain  within  the  enormous  web  that  had  been 
woven  around  them.     Hope  was  gone,  but  the  chief 

of  the  Arverni  could  yet  do  one  thing  for  his  coun- 
trymen —  he  could  offer  up  himself  in  order  to  ob- 
tain better  terms  for  them. 

The  next  day  he  convened  his  companions  in 
arms,  and  told  them  that  he  had  only  fought  for  the 
freedom  of  their  country,  not  to  secure  his  private 
interest ;  and  that  now,  since  yield  they  must,  he 
freely  offered  himself  to  become  a  victim  for  their 
safety,  whether  they  should  judge  it  best  for  them- 
selves to  appease  the  anger  of  the  conqueror  by 
putting  him  to  death  themselves,  or  whether  they 
preferred  giving  him  up  alive. 

It  was  a  piteous  necessity  to  have  to  sacrifice 
their  noblest  and  bravest,  who  had  led  them  so  gal- 
lantly during  the  long  war  ;  but  they  had  little  choice, 
and  could  only  send  messengers  to  the  camp  to 
offer  to  yield  Yercingetorix  as  the  price  of  their 
safety.  Caesar  made  it  known  that  he  was  willing  to 
accept  their  submission,  and  drawing  up  his  troops 
in  battle  array,  with  the  Eagle  standards  around 
him,  he  watched  the  whole  Gallic  army  march  past 
him.  First.  Yercingetorix  was  placed  as  a  prisoner 
in  his  hands,  and  then  each  man  laid  down  sword, 
javelin,  or  bow  and  arrows,  helmet,  buckler,  and 
breastplate,  in  one  mournful  heap,  and  proceeded 
on  his  way,  scarcely  thankful  that  the  generosity  of 
their  chieftain  had  purchased  for  them  subjection 
rather  than  death. 

Yercingetorix  himself  had  become  the  property 
of  the  great  man  from  whom  alone  we  know  of  his 
deeds  ;  who  could  perceive  his  generous  spirit  and 
high  qualities  as  a  general,  nay.  who  honored  the 
self-devotion  by  which  he  endeavored  to  save  his 
countrymen.     He  remained  in  captivity,  —  six  lcng 


The  Chief  of  the  Arverni.  95 

years  sped  by,  —  while  Caesar  passed  the  Rubicon, 
fought  out  his  straggle  for  power  at  Rome,  and  sub- 
dued Egypt,  Pontus,  and  Northern  Africa,  — and  all 
the  time  the  brave  Gaul  remained  closely  watched 
and  guarded,  and  with  no  hope  of  seeing  the  jagged 
peaks  and  wild  valleys  of  his  own  beautiful  Au- 
vergne.  For  well  did  he,  like  every  other  marked 
foe  of  Rome,  know  for  what  he  was  reserved,  and 
no  doubt  he  yielded  himself  in  the  full  expectation 
of  that  fate  which  many  a  man,  as  brave  as  he,  had 
escaped  by  self-destruction. 

The  day  came  at  last.  In  July,  b.  c.  45,  the  vic- 
torious Caesar  had  leisure  to  celebrate  his  victories 
in  four  grand  triumphs,  all  in  one  month,  and  that 
in  honor  of  the  conquest  of  Gaul  came  the  first. 
The  triumphal  gate  of  Rome  was  thrown  wide  open, 
every  house  was  decked  with  hangings  of  silk  and 
tapestry,  the  household  images  of  every  family, 
dressed  with  fresh  flowers,  were  placed  in  their 
porches,  those  of  the  gods  stood  on  the  steps  of  the 
temples,  and  in  marched  the  procession,  the  magis- 
trates first  in  their  robes  of  office,  and  then  the 
trumpeters.  Next  came  the  tokens  of  the  victory, 
—  figures  of  the  supposed  gods  of  the  two  great 
rivers,  Rhine  and  Rhone,  and  even  of  the  captive 
Ocean,  made  in  gold,  were  carried  along,  with  pic- 
tures framed  in  citron  wood,  showing  the  scenes  of 
the  victory,  —  the  wild  waste  of  the  Cevennes,  the 
steep  peaks  of  Auvergne,  the  mighty  camp  of  Ale- 
sia ;  nay,  there  too  would  be  the  white  cliffs  of 
Dover,  and  the  struggle  with  the  Britons  on  the 
beach.  Models  in  wood  and  ivory  showed  the  for- 
tifications of  Avaricum,  and  of  many  another  city  ; 
and  here  too  were  carried  specimens  of  the  olives 
and  vines,  and  other  curious  plants  of  the  newly 
won  land  ;  here  was  the  breastplate  of  British  pearls 
that  Caesar  dedicated  to  Venus.  A  band  of  flute- 
players  followed,  and   then   came  the  white  oxen 


96  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

that  were  to  be  sacrificed,  their  horns  gilded  and 
flowers  hung  round  them,  the  sacrificing  priests 
with  wreathed  heads  marching  with  them.  Speci- 
mens of  bears  and  wolves  from  the  woods  and 
mountains  came  next  in  order,  and  after  them 
waved  for  the  last  time  the  national  ensigns  of  the 
many  tribes  of  Gaul.  Once  more  Vercingetorix 
and  Vergosillaunus  saw  their  own  Arvernian  stand- 
ard, and  marched  behind  it  with  the  noblest  of  their 
clan  ;  once  more  they  wore  their  native  dress  and 
well-tried  armor.  But  chains  were  on  their  hands 
and  feet,  and  the  men  who  had  fought  so  long  and 
well  for  freedom,  were  the  captive  gazing-stock  of 
Rome.  Long,  long  was  the  line  of  chained  Gauls 
of  every  tribe,  before  the  four  white  horses  appeared, 
all  abreast,  drawing  the  gilded  car,  in  which  stood  a 
slight  form  in  a  purple  robe,  with  the  bald  head  and 
narrow  temples  encircled  with  a  wreath  of  bay,  the 
thin  cheeks  tinted  with  vermilion,  the  eager  acqui- 
line  face  and  narrow  lips  gravely  composed  to  Ro- 
man dignity,  and  the  quick  eye  searching  out  what 
impression 'the  display  was  making  on  the  people. 
Over  his  head  a  slave  held  a  golden  crown,  but 
whispered,  "  Remember  that  thou  too  art  a  man." 
And  in  following  that  old  custom,  how  little  did  the 
victor  know  that,  bay-crowned  like  himself,  there 
followed  close  behind,  in  one  of  the  chariots  of  the 
officers,  the  man  whose  dagger-thrust  would,  two 
years  later,  be  answered  by  his  dying  word  of  re- 
proach !  The  horsemen  of  the  army  followed,  and 
then  the  legions,  every  spear  wreathed,  every  head 
crowned  with  bay,  so  that  an  evergreen  grove  might 
have  seemed  marching  through  the  Roman  streets, 
but  for  the  war-songs,  and  the  wild  jests,  and  ribald 
ballads  that  custom  allowed  the  soldiers  to  shout 
out,  often  in  pretended  mockery  of  their  own  vic- 
torious general,  the  Imperator. 

The  victor  climbed  the  Capitol  steps,  and  laid  his 


The  Chief  of  the  Arverni.  97 

wreath  of  bay  on  Jupiter's  knees,  the  white  oxen  were 
sacrificed,  and  the  feast  began  by  torchlight.  Where 
was  the  vanquished  ?  He  was  led  to  the  dark  pris- 
on vault  in  the  side  of  the  Capitoline  hill,  and  there 
one  sharp  sword-thrust  ended  the  gallant  life  and 
long  captivity. 

It  was  no  special  cruelty  in  Julius  Caesar.  Every 
Roman  triumph  was  stained  by  the  slaughter  of  the 
most  distinguished  captives,  after  the  degradation 
of  walking  in  chains  had  been  undergone.  He  had 
spirit  to  appreciate  Vercingetorix,  but  had  not  no- 
bleness to  spare  him  from  the  ordinary  fate.  Yet 
we  may  doubt  which,  in  true  moral  greatness,  was 
the  superior  in  that  hour  of  triumph,  the  conqueror 
who  trod  down  all  that  he  might  minister  to  his  own 
glory,  or  the  conquered,  who,  when  no  resistance 
had  availed,  had  voluntarily  confronted  shame  and 
death  in  hopes  to  win  pardon  and  safety  for  his 
comrades. 


WITHSTANDING   THE   MONARCH   IN   HIS 
WRATH. 

A.D.    389. 

WHEN  a  monarch's  power  is  unchecked  by  his 
people,  there  is  only  One  to  whom  he  be- 
lieves himself  accountable  ;  and  if  he  have  forgotten 
the  dagger  of  Damocles,  or  if  he  be  too  high-spirited 
to  regard  it,  then  that  Higher  One  alone  can  re- 
strain his  actions.  And  there  have  been  times 
when  princes  have  so  broken  the  bounds  of  right, 
that  no  hope  remains  of  recalling  them  to  their  duty 
save  by  the  voice  of  the  ministers  of  God  upon 
Earth.  But  as  these  ministers  bear  no  charmed 
life,  and  are  subjects  themselves  of  the  prince,  such 
rebukes  have  been  given  at  the  utmost  risk  of  liber- 
ty and  life. 

Thus  it  was  that  though  Nathan,  unharmed, 
showed  David  his  sin,  and  Elijah,  the  wondrous 
prophet  of  Gilead,  was  protected  from  Jezebel's 
fury,  when  he  denounced  her  and  her  husband 
Ahab  for  the  idolatry  of  Baal  and  the  murder  of 
Naboth  ;  yet  no  Divine  hand  interposed  to  shield 
Zachariah,  the  son  of  Jehoiada,  the  high-priest, 
when  he  rebuked  the  apostasy  of  his  cousin,  Jeho- 
ash,  King  of  Judah,  and  was  stoned  to  death  by  the 
ungrateful  king's  command  in  that  very  temple 
court  where  Jehoiada  and  his  armed  Levites  had 
encountered  the  savage  usurping  Athaliah,  and  won 


Withstanding  the  Monarch  in  his   Wrath.    99 

back  the  kingdom  for  the  child  Jehoash.  And  when, 
"  in  the  spirit  and  power  of  Elijah,"  St.  John  the 
Baptist  denounced  the  sin  of  Herod  Antipas  in 
marrying  his  brother  Philip's  wife,  he  bore  the  con- 
sequences to  the  utmost,  when  thrown  into  prison 
and  then  beheaded  to  gratify  the  rage  of  the  vindic- 
tive woman. 

Since  Scripture  Saints  in  the  age  of  miracles  were 
not  always  shielded  from  the  wrath  of  kings,  Chris- 
tian bishops  could  expect  no  special  interposition  in 
their  favor,  when  they  stood  forth  to  stop  the  way 
of  the  sovereign's  passions,  and  to  proclaim  that 
the  cause  of  mercy,  purity,  and  truth  is  the  cause  of 
God. 

The  first  of  these  Christian  bishops  was  Ambrose, 
the  sainted  prelate  of  Milan.  It  was  indeed  a  Chris- 
tian Emperor  whom  he  opposed,  no  other  than  the 
great  Theodosius,  but  it  was  a  new  and  unheard  of 
thing  for  any  voice  to  rebuke  an  Emperor  of  Rome, 
and  Theodosius  had  proved  himself  a  man  of  violent 
passions. 

The  fourth  century  was  a  time  when  races  and  all 
sorts  of  shows  were  the  fashion,  nay,  literally  the 
rage  ;  for  furious  quarrels  used  to  arise  among  the 
spectators  who  took  the  part  of  one  or  other  of  the 
competitors,  and  would  call  themselves  after  their 
colors,  the  Blues  or  the  Greens.  A  favorite  chariot- 
driver,  who  had  excelled  in  these  races  at  Thessa- 
lonica,  was  thrown  into  prison  for  some  misde- 
meanor by  Botheric,  the  Governor  of  Illyria,  and 
his  absence  so  enraged  the  Thessalonican  mob,  that 
they  rose  in  tumult,  and  demanded  his  restoration. 
On  being  refused,  they  threw  such  a  hail  of  stones 
that  the  governor  himself  and  some  of  his  officers 
were  slain. 

Theodosius  might  well  be  displeased,  but  his  rage 
passed  all  bounds.  He  was  at  Milan  at  the  time, 
and  at  first  Ambrose  so  worked  on  his  feelings  as 


ioo  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

to  make  him  promise  to  temper  justice  with  mercy ; 
but  afterwards,  fresh  accounts  of  the  murder,  to- 
gether with  the  representations  of  his  courtier 
Rufinus,  made  him  resolve  not  to  relent  and  he 
sent  off  messengers  commanding  that  there  should 
be  a  general  slaughter  of  all  the  race-going  Thes- 
salonicans,  since  all  were  equally  guilty  of  Botheric's 
death.  He  took  care  that  his  horrible  command 
should  be  kept  a  secret  from  Ambrose,  and  the  first 
that  the  Bishop  heard  of  it  was  the  tidings  that  7,000 
persons  had  been  killed  in  the  theatre,  in  a  massacre 
lasting  three  hours  ! 

There  was  no  saving  these  lives,  but  Ambrose 
felt  it  his  duty  to  make  the  Emperor  feel  his  sin,  in 
hopes  of  saving  others.  Besides,  it  was  not  con- 
sistent with  the  honor  of  God  to  receive  at  his  altar 
a  man  reeking  with  innocent  blood.  The  Bishop 
however  took  time  to  consider  ;  he  went  into  the 
country  for  a  few  days,  and  thence  wrote  a  letter 
to  the  Emperor,  telling  him  that  thus  stained  with 
crime,  he  could  not  be  admitted  to  the  Holy  Com- 
munion, nor  received  into  church.  Still  the  Em- 
peror does  not  seem  to  have  believed  he  could  be 
really  withstood  by  any  subject,  and  on  Ambrose's 
return,  he  found  the  imperial  procession,  lictors, 
guards  and  all,  escorting  the  Emperor  as  usual  to 
the  Basilica  or  Justice  Hall,  that  had  been  turned 
into  a  church. 

Then  to  the  door  came  the  Bishop  and  stood  in 
the  way,  forbidding  the  entrance,  and  announcing 
that  there  at  least,  sacrilege  should  not  be  added  to 
murder. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Emperor,  "  did  not  holy  King 
David  commit  both  murder  and  adultery,  yet  was 
not  he  received  again?" 

'k  If  you  have  sinned  like  him,  repent  like  him," 
answered  Ambrose. 

Theodosius  turned  away,  troubled.     He  was  great 


Withstanding  the  Monarch  in  his  Wrath.     101 

enough  not  to  turn  his  anger  against  the  Bishop  ;  he 
felt  that  he  had  sinned,  and  that  the  chastisement 
was  merited,  and  he  went  back  to  his  palace  weep- 
ing, and  there  spent  eight  months,  attending  to  his 
duties  of  state,  but  too  proud  to  go  through  the 
tokens  of  penitence  that  the  discipline  of  the  church 
had  prescribed  before  a  great  sinner  could  be  re- 
ceived back  into  the  congregation  of  the  faithful. 
Easter  was  the  usual  time  for  reconciling  penitents, 
and  Ambrose  was  not  inclined  to  show  any  respect 
of  persons,  or  to  excuse  the  Emperor  from  a  pen- 
ance he  would  have  imposed  on  any  offender.  How- 
ever, Rufinus  could  not  believe  in  such  disregard, 
and  thought  all  would  give  way  to  the  Emperor's 
will.  Christmas  had  come,  but  for  one  man  at  Milan 
there  were  no  hymns,  no  shouts  of  "  glad  tidings  !  " 
no  midnight  festival,  no  rejoicing  that  "  to  us  a  Child 
is  born  ;  to  us  a  Son  is  given."  The  Basilica  was 
thronged  with  worshippers  and  rang  with  their 
Aniens,  resounding  like  thunder,  and  their  echoing 
song  —  the  Te  Deum  —  then  their  newest  hymn  of 
praise.  But  the  lord  of  all  those  multitudes  was 
alone  in  his  palace.  He  had  not  shown  good-will 
to  man  ;  he  had  not  learnt  mercy  and  peace  from 
the  Prince  of  Peace  ;  and  the  door  was  shut  upon 
him.  He  was  a  resolute  Spanish  Roman,  a  well- 
tried  soldier,  a  man  advancing  in  years,  but  he  wept, 
and  wept  bitterly.  Rufinus  found  him  thus  weep- 
ing. It  must  have  been  strange  to  the  courtier  that 
his  master  did  not  send  his  lictors  to  carry  the  of- 
fending bishop  to  a  dungeon,  and  give  all  his  court- 
favor  to  the  heretics,  like  the  last  empress  who  had 
reigned  at  Milan.  Nay,  he  might  even,  like  Julian 
th2  Apostate,  have  altogether  renounced  that  Chris- 
tian faith  which  could  humble  an  emperor  below  the 
poorest  of  his  subjects. 

But    Rufinus  contented  himself  with   urging  the 
Emperor  not  to  remain  at  home  lamenting,  but  to 


102  A   Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

endeavor  again  to  obtain  admission  into  the  church, 
assuring  him  that  the  Bishop  would  give  way.  The- 
odosius  replied  that  he  did  not  expect  it,  but  yielded 
to  the  persuasions,  and  Rufmus  hastened  on  before 
to  warn  the  Bishop  of  his  coming,  and  represented 
how  inexpedient  it  was  to  offend  him. 

"  I  warn  you,"  replied  Ambrose,  "  that  I  shall 
oppose  his  entrance,  but  if  he  chooses  to  turn  his 
power  into  tyranny,  I  shall  willingly  let  him  slay 
me." 

The  Emperor  did  not  try  to  enter  the  church,  but 
sought  Ambrose  in  an  adjoining  building,  where  he 
entreated  to  be  absolved  irom  his  sin. 

"  Beware,"  returned  the  Bishop,  "  of  trampling  on 
the  laws  of  God." 

"  I  respect  them,"  said  the  Emperor,  "therefore  I 
have  not  set  foot  in  the  church,  but  I  pray  thee  to 
deliver  me  from  these  bonds,  and  not  to  close  against 
me  the  door  that  the  Lord  hath  opened  to  all  who 
truly  repent." 

"  What  repentance  have  you  shown  for  such  a 
sin  ?  "  asked  Ambrose. 

"Appoint  my  penance,"  said  the  Emperor,  en- 
tirely subdued. 

And  Ambrose  caused  him  at  once  to  sign  a  decree 
that  thirty  days  should  always  elapse  between  a  sen- 
tence of  death  and  its  execution.  After  this,  Theo- 
dosius  was  allowed  to  come  into  the  church,  but 
only  to  the  corner  he  had  shunned  all  these  eight 
months,  till  the  "  dull  hard  stone  within  him  "  had 
"melted,"  to  the  spot  appointed  for  the  penitents. 
There,  without  his  crown,  his  purple  robe,  and  bus- 
kins, worked  with  golden  eagles,  all  laid  aside,  he 
lay  prostrate  on  the  stones,  repeating  the  verse, 
"  My  soul  cleaveth  unto  the  dust  ;  quicken  me,  O 
Lord,  according  to  thy  word."  This  was  the  place 
that  penitents  always  occupied,  and  their  fasts  and 
other   discipline   were  also  appointed.      When  the 


Withstanding  the  Monarch  in  his  Wrath.     103 

due  course  had  been  gone  through,  probably  at  the 
next  Easter,  Ambrose,  in  his  Master's  name,  pro- 
nounced the  forgiveness  of  Theodosius,  and  re- 
ceived him  back  to  the  full  privileges  of  a  Christian. 
When  we  look  at  the  course  of  many  another  em- 
peror, and  see  how  easily,  where  the  power  was  ir- 
responsible, justice  became  severity,  and  severity 
bloodthirstiness,  we  see  what  Ambrose  dared  to 
meet,  and  from  what  he  spared  Theodosius  and  all 
the  civilized  world  under  his  sway.  Who  can  tell 
how  many  innocent  lives  have  been  saved  by  that 
thirty  days'  respite  ? 

Pass  over  nearly  seven  hundred  years,  and  again 
we  find  a  church  door  barred  against  a  monarch. 
This  time  it  is  not  under  the  bright  Italian  sky,  but 
under  the  gray  fogs  of  the  Baltic  sea.  It  is  not  the 
stately  marble  gateway  of  the  Milanese  Basilica,  but 
the  low-arched,  rough  stone  portal  of  the  newly- 
built  cathedral  of  Roskilde,  in  Zealand,  where,  if  a 
^igzag  surrounds  the  arch,  it  is  a  great  effort  of 
genius.  The  Danish  King  Swend,  the  nephew  of  the 
well-known  Knut,  stands  before  it ;  a  stern  and  pow- 
erful man,  fierce  and  passionate,  and  with  many  a 
Danish  axe  at  his  command.  Nay,  only  lately,  for 
a  few  rude  jests,  he  caused  some  of  his  chief  jarls  to 
be  slain  without  a  trial.  Half  the  country  is  still 
pagan,  and  though  the  king  himself  is  baptized, 
there  is  no  certainty  that,  if  the  Christian  faith  do 
not  suit  his  taste,  he  may  not  join  the  heathen  party 
and  return  to  the  worship  of  Thor  and  Tyr,  where 
deeds  of  blood  would  be  not  blameworthy,  but  a 
passport  to  the  rude  joys  of  Valhall.  Nevertheless 
there  is  a  pastoral  staff  across  the  doorway,  barring 
the  way  of  the  king,  and  that  staff  is  held  against 
him  by  an  Englishman,  William,  Bishop  of  Ros- 
kilde, the  missionary  who  had  converted  a  great  part 
of  Zealand,  but  who  will  not  accept  Christians  who 
have  not  laid  aside  their  sins. 


104  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

He  confronts  the  king  who  has  never  been  op- 
posed before.  "Go  tack,"  he  says,  "nor  dare 
approach  the  altar  of  God  —  thou  who  art  not  a 
king  but  a  murderer." 

Some  of  the  jarls  seized  their  swords  and  axes, 
and  were  about  to  strike  the  bishop  away  from  the 
threshold,  but  he,  without  removing  his  staff,  bent 
his  head,  and  bade  them  strike,  saying  he  was  ready 
to  die  in  the  cause  of  God.  But  the  king  came  to  a 
better  frame  of  mind,  he  called  the  jarls  away,  and 
returning  humbly  to  his  palace,  took  off  his  royal 
robes,  and  came  again  barefoot  and  in  sackcloth  to 
the  church  door,  where  Bishop  William  met  him, 
took  him  by  the  hand,  gave  him  the  kiss  of  peace, 
and  led  him  to  the  penitents'  place.  After  three 
days  he  was  absolved,  and  for  the  rest  of  his  life 
the  bishop  and  the  king  lived  in  the  closest  friend- 
ship, so  much  so  that  William  always  prayed  that 
even  in  death  he  might  not  be  divided  from  his 
friend.  The  prayer  was  granted.  The  two  died 
almost  at  the  same  time,  and  were  buried  together 
in  the  cathedral  at  Roskilde,  where  the  one  had 
taught  and  the  other  learnt  the  great  lesson  of 
mercy. 


THE  LAST  FIGHT  IN  THE  COLISEUM. 

A.  D.   404. 

AS  the  Romans  grew  prouder  and  more  fond  of 
pleasure,  no  one  could  hope  to  please  them 
who  did  not  give  them  sports  and  entertainments. 
When  any  person  wished  to  be  elected  to  any  pub- 
lic office,  it  was  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should 
compliment  his  fellow-citizens  by  exhibitions  of  the 
kind  they  loved,  and  when  the  common  people  were 
discontented,  their  cry  was  that  they  wanted  panem 
ac  Circenses,  "bread  and  sports,"  the  only  things 
they  cared  for.  In  most  places  where  there  has 
been  a  large  Roman  colony,  remains  can  be  seen 
of  the  amphitheatres,  where  the  citizens  were  wont 
to  assemble  for  these  diversions.  Sometimes  these 
are  stages  of  circular  galleries  of  seats  hewn  out 
of  the  hillside,  where  rows  of  spectators  might  sit 
one  above  the  other,  all  looking  down  on  a  broad, 
flat  space  in  the  centre,  under  their  feet,  where  the 
representations  took  place.  Sometimes,  when  the 
country  was  flat,  or  it  was  easier  to  build  than  to 
excavate,  the  amphitheatre  was  raised  above  ground, 
rising  up  to  a  considerable  height. 

The  grandest  and  most  renowned  of  all  these  am- 
phitheatres is  the  Colisasum  at  Rome.  It  was  built 
by  Vespasian  and  his  son  Titus,  the  conquerors  of 
Jerusalem,  in  a  valley  in  the  midst  of  the  seven 
hills  of  Rome.     The  captive   Jews  were  forced  to 


106  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

labor  at  it :  and  the  materials,  granite  outside,  and 
softer  travertine  stone  within,  are  so  solid  and  so 
admirably  built,  that  still,  at  the  end  of  eighteen 
centuries,  it  has  scarcely  even  become  a  ruin,  but 
remains  one  of  the  greatest  wonders  of  Rome. 

Five  acres  of  ground  were  enclosed  within  the 
oval  of  its  outer  wall,  which  outside  rises  perpendic- 
ularly in  tiers  of  arches  one  above  the  other.  With- 
in, the  galleries  of  seats  projected  forwards,  each  tier 
coming  out  far  beyond  the  one  above  it,  so  that  be- 
tween the  lowest  and  the  outer  wall  there  was  room 
for  a  great  space  of  chambers,  passages,  and  vaults 
around  the  central  space,  called  the  arena,  from  the 
arena,  or  sand,  with  which  it  was  strewn. 

When  the  Roman  Emperors  grew  very  vain  and 
luxurious,  they  used  to  have  this  sand  made  or- 
namental with  metallic  filings,  vermilion,  and  even 
powdered  precious  stones  ;  but  it  was  thought  bet- 
ter taste  to  use  the  scrapings  of  a  soft  white  stone, 
which,  when  thickly  strewn,  made  the  whole  arena 
look  as  if  covered  with  untrodden  snow.  Around 
the  border  of  this  space  flowed  a  stream  of  fresh 
water.  Then  came  a  straight  wall,  rising  to  a 
considerable  height,  and  surmounted  by  a  broad 
platform,  on  which  stood  a  throne  for  the  emperor, 
curule  chairs  of  ivory  and  gold  for  the  chief  magis- 
trates and  senators,  and  seats  for  the  vestal  virgins. 
Next  above  were  galleries  for  the  equestrian  order, 
the  great  mass  of  those  who  considered  themselves 
as  of  gentle  station,  though  not  of  the  highest  rank; 
farther  up,  and  therefore  farther  back,  were  the  gal- 
leries belonging  to  the  freemen  of  Rome  ;  and  these 
were  again  surmounted  by  another  plain  wall  with  a 
platform  at  the  top,  where  were  places  for  the  ladies, 
who  were  not  (except  the  vestal  virgins)  allowed  to 
look  on  nearer,  because  of  the  unclothed  state  of 
some  of  the  performers  in  the  arena.  Between  the 
ladies'  boxes,  benches  were  squeezed  in  where  the 


The  Last  Fight  in  the  Colisceum.  107 

lowest  people  could  seat  themselves  ;  and  some  of 
these  likewise  found  room  in  the  two  uppermost 
tiers  of  porticos,  where  sailors,  mechanics,  and  per- 
sons in  the  service  of  the  Colisaeum  had  their  post. 
Altogether,  when  full,  this  huge  building  held  no  less 
than  87,000  spectators.  It  had  no  roof;  but  when 
there  was  rain,  or  if  the  sun  was  too  hot,  the  sailors 
in  the  porticos  unfurled  awnings  that  ran  along  upon 
ropes,  and  formed  a  covering  of  silk  and  gold  tissue 
over  the  whole.  Purple  was  the  favorite  color  for 
this  velamen,  or  veil ;  because  when  the  sun  shone 
through  it,  it  cast  such  beautiful  rosy  tints  on  the 
snowy  arena  and  the  white  purple-edged  togas  of 
the  Roman  citizens. 

Long  days  were  spent  from  morning  till  evening 
upon  those  galleries.  The  multitude  who  poured 
in  early  would  watch  the  great  dignitaries  arrive  and 
take  their  seats,  greeting  them  either  with  shouts  of 
applause  or  hootings  of  dislike,  according  as  they 
were  favorites  or  otherwise  ;  and  when  the  Emperor 
came  in  to  take  his  place  under  his  canopy,  there 
was  one  loud  acclamation,  "Joy  to  thee,  master  of 
all,  first  of  all,  happiest  of  all.  Victory  to  thee  for 
ever !  " 

When  the  Emperor  had  seated  himself  and  given 
the  signal,  the  sports  began.  Sometimes  a  rope- 
dancing  elephant  would  begin  the  entertainment,  by 
mounting  even  to  the  summit  of  the  building  and 
descending  by  a  cord.  Then  a  bear,  dressed  up  as 
a  Roman  matron,  would  be  carried  along  in  a  chair 
between  porters,  as  ladies  were  wont  to  go  abroad, 
and  another  bear,  in  a  lawyer's  robe,  would  stand 
on  his  hind  legs  and  go  through  the  motions  of 
pleading  a  cause.  Or  a  lion  came  forth  with  a  jew- 
elled crown  on  his  head,  a  diamond  necklace  round 
his  neck,  his  mane  plated  with  gold,  and  his  claws 
gilded,  and  played  a  hundred  pretty  gentle  antics 
with  a  little  hare  that  danced  fearlessly  within  his 


io8  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

grasp.  Then  in  would  come  twelve  elephants,  six 
males  in  the  toga,  six  females  with  the  veil  and  pal- 
lium ;  they  took  their  places  on  couches  around  an 
ivory  table,  dined  with  great  decorum,  playfully 
sprinkling  a  little  rose-water  over  the  nearest  specta- 
tors, and  then  received  more  guests  of  their  own  un- 
wieldy kind,  who  arrived  in  ball  dresses,  scattered 
flowers,  and  performed  a  dance. 

Sometimes  water  was  let  into  the  arena,  a  ship 
sailed  in,  and  falling  to  pieces  in  the  midst,  sent  a 
crowd  of  strange  animals  swimming  in  all  directions. 
Sometimes  the  ground  opened,  and  trees  came  grow- 
ing up  through  it,  bearing  golden  fruit.  Or  the  beau- 
tiful old  tale  of  Orpheus  was  acted  :  these  trees 
would  follow  the  harp  and  song  of  the  musician  ; 
but —  to  make  the  whole  part  complete  — it  was  no 
mere  play,  but  real  earnest,  that  the  Orpheus  of  the 
piece  fell  a  prey  to  live  bears. 

For  the  Colisaeum  had  not  been  built  for  such 
harmless  spectacles  as  those  first  described.  The 
fierce  Romans  wanted  to  be  excited  and  feel  them- 
selves strongly  stirred  ;  and,  presently,  the  doors  of 
the  pits  and  dens  round  the  arena  were  thrown  open, 
and  absolutely  savage  beasts  were  let  loose  upon 
one  another,  —  rhinoceroses  and  tigers,  bulls  and 
lions,  leopards  and  wild  boars, — while  the  people 
watched  with  savage  curiosity  to  see  the  various 
kinds  of  attack  and  defence  ;  or,  if  the  animals  were 
cowed  or  sullen,  their  rage  would  be  worked  up  — 
red  would  be  shown  to  bulls,  white  to  boars,  red-hot 
goads  would  be  driven  into  some,  whips  would  be 
lashed  at  others,  till  the  work  of  slaughter  was  fairly 
commenced,  and  gazed  on  with  greedy  eyes,  and 
ears  delighted,  instead  of  horror-struck,  by  the  roars 
and  howls  of  the  noble  creatures  whose  courage  was 
thus  misused.  Sometimes,  indeed,  when  some  es- 
pecially strong  or  ferocious  animal  had  slain  a  whole 
heap  of  victims,  the  cries  of  the  people  would  decree 


The  Last  Fight  in  the  Coliscpum.  ico, 

that  it  should  be  turned  loose  in  its  native  forest, 
and,  amid  shouts  of  "  A  triumph  !  —  a  triumph  !  " 
the  beast  would  prowl  round  the  arena,  upon  the 
carcasses  of  the  slain  victims.  Almost  incredible 
numbers  of  animals  were  imported  for  these  cruel 
sports,  and  the  governors  of  distant  provinces  made 
it  a  duty  to  collect  troops  of  lions,  elephants,  os- 
triches, leopards,  —  the  fiercer  or  the  newer  the 
creature  the  better,  —  to  be  thus  tortured  to  frenzy, 
to  make  sport  in  the  amphitheatre.  However,  there 
was  daintiness  joined  with  cruelty  :  the  Romans  did 
not  like  the  smell  of  blood,  though  they  enjoyed  the 
sight  of  it,  and  all  the  solid  stone-work  was  pierced 
with  tubes,  through  which  was  conducted  the  steam 
of  spices  and  saffron,  boiled  in  wine,  that  the  per- 
fume might  overpower  the  scent  of  slaughter  below. 
Wild  beasts  tearing  each  other  to  pieces  might, 
one  would  think,  satisfy  any  taste  for  horror ;  but 
the  spectators  needed  even  nobler  game  to  be  set 
before  their  favorite  monsters, — men  were  brought 
forward  to  confront  them.  Some  of  these  were,  at 
first,  in  full  armor,  and  fought  hard,  generally  with 
success  ;  and  there  was  a  revolving  machine,  some- 
thing like  a  squirrel's  cage,  in  which  the  bear  was 
always  climbing  after  his  enemy,  and  then  rolling 
over  by  his  own  weight.  Or  hunters  came,  almost 
unarmed,  and  gained  the  victory  by  swiftness  and 
dexterity,  throwing  a  piece  of  cloth  over  a  lion's 
head,  or  disconcerting  him  by  putting  their  fist  down 
his  throat.  But  it  was  not  only  skill,  but  death,  that 
the  Romans  loved  to  see  ;  and  condemned  criminals 
and  deserters  were  reserved  to  feast  the  lions,  and 
to  entertain  the  populace  with  their  various  kinds 
of  death.  Among  these  condemned  was  many  -a 
Christian  martyr,  who  witnessed  a  good  confession 
before  the  savage-eyed  multitude  around  the  arena, 
and  "  met  the  lion's  gory  mane  "  with  a  calm  reso- 
lution and  hopeful  joy  that  the  lookers-on  could  not 


no  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

understand.  To  see  a  Christian  die,  with  upward 
gaze  and  hymns  of  joy  on  his  tongue.  was  the  most 
strange  and  unaccountable  sight  the  Colisaeum  could 
offer,  and  it  was  therefore  the  choicest,  and  reserved 
for  the  last  of  the  spectacles  in  which  the  brute  cre- 
ation had  a  part. 

The  carcasses  were  dragged  off  with  hooks,  the 
blood-stained  sand  was  covered  with  a  fresh  clean 
layer,  the  perfume  was  wafted  in  stronger  clouds, 
and  a  procession  came  forward,  —  tall,  well-made 
men.  in  the  prime  of  their  strength.  Some  carried 
a  sword  and  a  lasso,  others  a  trident  and  a  net ; 
some  were  in  light  armor,  others  in  the  full  heavy 
equipment  of  a  soldier  ;  some  on  horseback,  some 
in  chariots,  some  on  foot.  They  marched  in,  and 
made  their  obeisance  to  the  Emperor ;  and  with 
one  voice  their  greeting  sounded  through  the  build- 
ing, Ave,  Ctzsar,  morituri te sahitant /  ''Hail,  Cae- 
sar, those  about  to  die  salute  thee  !  " 

They  were  the  gladiators,  —  the  swordsmen 
trained  to  fight  to  the  death  to  amuse  the  popu- 
lace. They  were  usually  slaves  placed  in  schools 
of  arms  under  the  care  of  a  master  ;  but  sometimes 
persons  would  voluntarily  hire  themselves  out  to 
fight  by  way  of  a  profession  :  and  both  these,  and 
such  slave-gladiators  as  did  not  die  in  the  arena, 
would  sometimes  retire,  and  spend  an  old  age  of 
quiet ;  but  there  was  little  hope  of  this,  for  the  Ro- 
mans were  not  apt  to  have  mercy  on  the  fallen. 

Fights  of  all  sorts  took  place.  —  the  light-armed 
soldier  and  the  netsman.  —  the  lasso  and  the  jave- 
lin, —  the  two  heavy-armed  warriors.  —  all  combina- 
tions of  single  combat,  and  sometimes  a  general 
melee.  When  a  gladiator  wounded  his  adversary, 
he  shouted  to  the  spectators.  Hoc  habet 7  ';  He  has 
it  !  *?  and  looked  up  to  know  whether  he  should  kill 
or  spare.  If  the  people  held  up  their  thumbs,  the 
conquered  was  left  to  recover,  if  he  could  ;  if  they 


The  Last  Fight  in  the  Colisceum.  1 1 1 

turned  them  down,  he  was  to  die  :  and  if  he  showed 
any  reluctance  to  present  his  throat  for  the  death- 
blow, there  was  a  scornful  shout,  Recipe  ferrum  f 
"  Receive  the  steel  !  "  Many  of  us  must  have  seen 
casts  of  that  most  touching  statue  of  the  wounded 
man,  that  called  forth  the  noble  lines  of  indignant 
pity  which,  though  so  often  repeated,  cannot  be 
passed  over  here : — 

"  I  see  before  me  the  Gladiator  lie  ; 
He  leans  upon  his  hand,  —  his  manly  brow 
Consents  to  death,  but  conquers  agony. 
And  his  drooped  head  sinks  gradually  low, 
And  through  his  side  the  last  drops,  ebbing  slow 
From  the  red  gash,  fall  heavy,  one  by  one, 
Like  the  first  of  a  thunder-shower  ;   and  now 
The  arena  swims  around  him,  —  he  is  gone 
Ere  ceased  the  inhuman  shout  which  hailed  the  wretch 
who  won. 

"  He  heard  it,  but  he  heeded  not,  —  his  eyes 
Were  with  his  heart,  and  that  was  far  away. 
He  recked  not  of  the  life  he  lost,  nor  prize, 
But  where  his  rude  hut  by  the  Danube  lay, 
There  were  his  young  barbarians  all  at  play, 
There  was  their  Dacian  mother,  —  he  their  sire, 
Butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday. 
All  this  rushed  with  his  blood,  —  Shall  he  expire, 
And  unavenged  ?     Arise  ye  Goths  and  glut  your  ire." 

Sacred  vestals,  tender  mothers,  fat,  good-humored 
senators,  all  thought  it  fair  play,  and  were  equally 
pitiless  in  the  strange  frenzy  for  exciting  scenes  to 
which  they  gave  themselves  up,  when  they  mounted 
the  stone  stairs  of  the  Colisaeum.  Privileged  per- 
sons would  even  descend  into  the  arena,  examine 
the  death-agonies,  and  taste  the  blood  of  some 
specially  brave  victim  ere  the  corpse  was  drawn 
forth  at  the  death-gate,  that  the  frightful  game 
might    continue    undisturbed    and    unencumbered. 


112  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Gladiator  shows  were  the  great  passion  of  Rome, 
and  popular  favor  could  hardly  be  gained  except  by 
ministering  to  it.  Even  when  the  barbarians  were 
beginning  to  close  in  on  the  Empire,  hosts  of  brave 
men  were  still  kept  for  this  slavish  mimic  warfare, 
—  sport  to  the  beholders,  but  sad  earnest  to  the 
actors. 

Christianity  worked  its  way  upwards,  and  at  last 
was  professed  by  the  Emperor  on  his  throne.  Per- 
secution came  to  an  end,  and  no  more  martyrs  fed 
the  beasts  in  the  Colisaeum.  The  Christian  Em- 
perors endeavored  to  prevent  any  more  shows  where 
cruelty  and  death  formed  the  chief  interest,  and  no 
truly  religious  person  could  endure  the  spectacle  ; 
but  custom  and  love  of  excitement  prevailed  even 
against  the  Emperor.  Mere  tricks  of  beasts,  horse 
and  chariot  races,  or  bloodless  contests,  were  tame 
and  dull,  according  to  the  diseased  taste  of  Rome  ; 
it  was  thought  weak  and  sentimental  to  object  to 
looking  on  at  a  death-scene  ;  the  Emperors  were 
generally  absent  at  Constantinople,  and  no  one 
could  get  elected  to  any  office  unless  he  treated  the 
citizens  to  such  a  show  as  they  best  liked,  with  a 
little  bloodshed  and  death  to  stir  their  feelings  ;  and 
thus  it  went  on  for  full  a  hundred  years  after  Rome 
had,  in  name,  become  a  Christian  city,  and  the  same 
customs  prevailed  wherever  there  was  an  amphi- 
theatre and  pleasure-loving  people. 

Meantime  the  enemies  of  Rome  were  coming 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  Alaric,  the  great  chief  of  the 
Goths,  led  his  forces  into  Italy,  and  threatened  the 
city  itself.  Honorious,  the  Emperor,  was  a  cowardly, 
almost  idiotical,  boy  ;  but  his  brave  general,  Stilicho, 
assembled  his  forces,  met  the  Goths  at  Pollentia 
(about  twenty-five  miles  from  where  Turin  now 
stands),  and  gave  them  a  complete  defeat  on  the 
Easter-day  of  the  year  403.  He  pursued  them  into 
the  mountains,  and  for  that  time  saved  Rome.     In 


The  Last  Fight  in  the  Colisceum.  1 1 3 

the  joy  of  the  victory  the  Roman  senate  invited  the 
conqueror  and  his  ward  Honorius  to  enter  the  city 
in  triumph,  at  the  opening  of  the  new  year,  with  the 
white  steeds,  purple  robes,  and  vermilion  cheeks 
with  which,  of  old,  victorious  generals  were  wel- 
comed at  Rome.  The  churches  were  visited  instead 
of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter,  and  there  was  no  murder 
of  the  captives  ;  but  Roman  bloodthirstiness  was 
not  yet  allayed,  and,  after  all  the  procession  had 
been  completed,  the  Colisaeum  shows  commenced, 
innocently  at  first,  with  races  on  foot,  on  horseback, 
and  in  chariots  ;  then  followed  a  grand  hunting  of 
beasts  turned  loose  in  the  arena ;  and  next  a  sword- 
dance.  But  after  the  sword-dance  came  the  array- 
ing of  swordsmen,  with  no  blunted  weapons,  but 
with  sharp  spears  and  swords,  —  a  gladiator  combat 
in  full  earnest.  The  people,  enchanted,  applauded 
with  shouts  of  ecstasy  this  gratification  of  their  sav- 
age tastes.  Suddenly,  however,  there  was  an  inter- 
ruption. A  rude,  roughly-robed  man,  bareheaded 
and  barefooted,  had  sprung  into  the  arena,  and, 
signing  back  the  gladiators,  began  to  call  aloud 
upon  the  people  to  cease  from  the  shedding  of  inno- 
cent blood,  and  not  to  requite  God's  mercy  in  turn- 
ing away  the  sword  of  the  enemy  by  encouraging 
murder.  Shouts,  howls,  cries,  broke  in  upon  his 
words  ;  this  was  no  place  for  preachings,  —  the  old 
customs  of  Rome  should  be  observed,  —  "  Back,  old 
man  !  "  —  "  On,  gladiators  !  "  The  gladiators  thrust 
aside  the  meddler,  and  rushed  to  the  attack.  He 
still  stood  between,  holding  them  apart,  striving  in 
vain  to  be  heard.  "  Sedition  !  sedition  !  "  —  "  Down 
with  him  !  "  —  was  the  cry  ;  and  the  man  in  authori- 
ty, Alypius,  the  prasfect,  himself  added  his  voice. 
The  gladiators,  enraged  at  interference  with  their 
vocation,  cut  him  down.  Stones,  or  whatever  came 
to  hand,  rained  down  upon  him  from  the  furious 
people,  and  he  perished  in  the  midst  of  the  arena  ! 


U4  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

He  lay  dead,  and  then  came  the  feeling  of  what  had 
been  done. 

His  dress  showed  that  he  was  one  of  the  hermits 
who  vowed  themselves  to  a  holy  life  of  prayer  and 
self-denial,  and  who  were  greatly  reverenced,  even 
by  the  most  thoughtless.  The  few  who  had  pre- 
viously seen  him,  told  that  he  had  come  from  the 
wilds  of  Asia  on  pilgrimage,  to  visit  the  shrines  and 
keep  his  Christmas  at  Rome,  —  they  knew  he  was 
a  holy  man,  —  no  more,  and  it  is  not  even  certain 
whether  his  name  was  Alymachus  or  Telemachus. 
His  spirit  had  been  stirred  by  the  sight  of  thousands 
flocking  to  see  men  slaughter  one  another,  and  in 
his  simple-hearted  zeal  he  had  resolved  to  stop  the 
cruelty  or  die.  He  had  died,  but  not  in  vain.  His 
work  was  done.  The  shock  of  such  a  death  before 
their  eyes  turned  the  hearts  of  the  people  ;  they  saw 
the  wickedness  and  cruelty  to  which  they  had 
blindly  surrendered  themselves  ;  and  from  the  day 
when  the  hermit  died  in  the  Colisaeum  there  was 
never  another  fight  of  gladiators.  Not  merely  at 
Rome,  but  in  every  province  of  the  Empire,  the 
custom  was  utterly  abolished;  and  one  habitual 
crime  at  least  was  wiped  from  the  earth  by  the  self- 
devotion  of  one  humble,  obscure,  almost  nameless 


THE  SHEPHERD  GIRL  OF  NANTERRE. 

A.  D.   438. 

FOUR  hundred  years  of  the  Roman  dominion 
had  entirely  tamed  the  once  wild  and  indepen- 
dent Gauls.  Everywhere,  except  in  the  moorlands 
of  Brittany,  they  had  become  as  much  like  Romans 
themselves  as  they  could  accomplish  ;  they  had 
Latin  names,  spoke  the  Latin  tongue,  all  their  per- 
sonages of  higher  rank  were  enrolled  as  Roman  citi- 
zens, their  chief  cities  were  colonies  where  the  laws 
were  administered  by  magistrates  in  the  Roman 
fashion,  and  the  houses,  dress,  and  amusements  were 
the  same  as  those  of  Italy.  The  greater  part  of  the 
towns  had  been  converted  to  Christianity,  though 
some  Paganism  still  lurked  in  the  more  remote  vil- 
lages and  mountainous  districts. 

It  was  upon  these  civilized  Gauls  that  the  terrible 
attacks  came  from  the  wild  nations  who  poured  out 
of  the  centre  and  east  of  Europe.  The  Franks 
came  over  the  Rhine  and  its  dependent  rivers,  and 
made  furious  attacks  upon  the  peaceful  plains,  where 
the  Gauls  had  long  lived  in  security,  and  reports 
were  everywhere  heard  of  villages  harried  by  wild 
horsemen,  with  short  double-headed  battle-axes,  and 
a  horrible  short  pike,  covered  with  iron  and  with 
several  large  hooks,  like  a  gigantic  artificial  minnow, 
and  like  it  fastened  to  a  long  rope,  so  that  the  prey 
which  it  had  grappled  might  be  pulled  up  to  the 
owner.     Walled   cities   usually  stopped   them,  but 


1 1 6  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

every  farm  or  villa  outside  was  stripped  of  its  valu- 
bles,  set  on  fire,  the  cattle  driven  off,  and  the  more 
healthy  inhabitants  seized  for  slaves. 

It  was  during  this  state  of  things  that  a  girl  was 
born  to  a  wealthy  peasant  at  the  village  now  called 
Nanterre,  about  two  miles  from  Lutetia,  which  was 
already  a  prosperous  city,  though  not  as  yet  so  en- 
tirely the  capital  as  it  was  destined  to  become  under 
the  name  of  Paris.  She  was  christened  by  an  old 
Gallic  name,  probably  Gwenfrewi,  or  White  Stream, 
in  Latin  Genovefa,  but  she  is  best  known  by  the  late 
French  form  of  Genevieve.  When  she  was  about 
seven  years  old,  two  celebrated  bishops  passed 
through  the  village,  Germanus,  of  Auxerre,  and 
Lupus,  of  Troyes,  who  had  been  invited  to  Britain 
to  dispute  the  false  doctrine  of  Pelagius.  All  the 
inhabitants  flocked  into  the  church  to  see  them, 
pray  with  them,  and  receive  their  blessing  ;  and  here 
the  sweet  childish  devotion  of  Genevieve  so  struck 
Germanus,  that  he  called  her  to  him,  talked  to  her, 
made  her  sit  beside  him  at  the  feast,  gave  her  his 
especial  blessing,  and  presented  her  with  a  copper 
medal  with  a  cross  engraven  upon  it.  From  that 
time  the  little  maiden  always  deemed  herself  es- 
pecially consecrated  to  the  service  of  Heaven,  but 
she  still  remained  at  home,  daily  keeping  her  father's 
sheep,  and  spinning  their  wool  as  she  sat  under  the 
trees  watching  them,  but  always  with  a  heart  full  of 
prayer. 

After  this  St.  Germanus  proceeded  to  Britain,  and 
there  encouraged  his  converts  to  meet  the  heathen 
Picts  at  Maes  Garmon,  in  Flintshire,  where  the  ex- 
ulting shout  of  the  white-robed  catechumens  turned 
to  flight  the  wild  superstitious  savages  of  the  north, 
—  and  the  Hallelujah  victory  was  gained  without  a 
drop  of  bloodshed.  He  never  lost  sight  of  Gene- 
vieve, the  little  maid  whom  he  had  so  early  distin- 
guished for  her  piety. 

After  she  lost  her  parents  she  went  to  live  with 


The  Shepherd  Girl  of  Nantcrre.  1 1 7 

her  godmother,  and  continued  the  same  simple 
habits,  leading  a  life  of  sincere  devotion  and  strict 
self-denial,  constant  prayer,  and  much  charity  to  her 
poorer  neighbors. 

In  the  year  451  the  whole  of  Gaul  was  in  the 
most  dreadful  state  of  terror  at  the  advance  of  At- 
tila,  the  savage  chief  of  the  Huns,  who  came  from 
the  banks  of  the  Danube  with  a  host  of  savages  of 
hideous  features,  scarred  and  disfigured  to  render 
them  more  frightful.  The  old  enemies,  the  Goths 
and  the  Franks,  seemed  like  friends  compared  with 
these  formidable  beings,  whose  cruelties  were  said 
to  be  intolerable,  and  of  whom  every  exaggerated 
story  was  told  that  could  add  to  the  horrors  of  the 
miserable  people  who  lay  in  their  path.  Tidings 
came  that  this  "  Scourge  of  God,"  as  Attila  called 
himself,  had  passed  the  Rhine,  destroyed  Tongres 
and  Metz,  and  was  in  full  march  for  Paris.  The 
whole  country  was  in  the  utmost  terror.  Every  one 
seized  their  most  valuable  possessions,  and  would 
have  fled  ;  but  Geneviive  placed  herself  on  the  only 
bridge  across  the  Seine,  and  argued  with  them,  as- 
suring them,  in  a  strain  that  was  afterwards  thought 
of  as  prophetic,  that,  if  they  would  pray,  repent, 
and  defend  instead  of  abandoning  their  homes,  God 
would  protect  them.  They  were  at  first  almost 
ready  to  stone  her  for  thus  withstanding  their  panic, 
but  just  then  a  priest  arrived  from  Auxerre,  with  a 
present  for  Genevieve  from  St.  Germanus,  and  they 
were  thus  reminded  of  the  high  estimation  in  which 
he  held  her  ;  they  became  ashamed  of  their  violence, 
and  she  led  them  back  to  pray  and  to  arm  them- 
selves. In  a  few  days  they  heard  that  Attila  had 
paused  to  beseige  Orleans,  and  that  Aetius,  the  Ro- 
man general,  hurrying  from  Italy,  had  united  his 
troops  with  those  of  the  Goths  and  Franks,  and 
given  Attila  so  terrible  a  defeat  at  Chalons  that  the 
Huns  were  fairly  driven  out  of  Gaul.  And  here  it 
must  be  mentioned  that  when  the  next  year,  452, 


1 1 8  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Attila  with  his  murderous  host  came  down  into 
Italy,  and  after  horrible  devastation  of  all  the  north- 
ern provinces,  came  to  the  gates  of  Rome,  no  one 
dared  to  meet  him  but  one  venerable  Bishop,  Leo, 
the  Pope,  who,  when  his  flock  were  in  transports  of 
despair,  went  forth  only  accompanied  by  one  magis- 
trate, to  meet  the  invader,  and  endeavor  to  turn  his 
wrath  aside.  The  savage  Huns  were  struck  with 
awe  by  the  fearless  majesty  of  the  unarmed  old  man. 
They  conducted  him  safely  to  Attila,  who  listened  to 
him  with  respect,  and  promised  not  to  lead  his  peo- 
ple into  Rome,  provided  a  tribute  should  be  paid  to 
him.  He  then  retreated,  and,  to  the  joy  of  all  Eu- 
rope, died  on  his  way  back  to  his  native  dominions. 
But  with  the  Huns  the  danger  and  suffering  of 
Europe  did  not  end.  The  happy  state  described 
in  the  Prophets  as  "  dwelling  safely,  with  none  to 
make  them  afraid,"  was  utterly  unknown  in  Europe 
throughout  the  long  break-up  of  the  Roman  Em- 
pire ;  and  in  a  few  more  years  the  Franks  were 
overrunning  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  and  actually 
venturing  to  lay  siege  to  the  Roman  walls  of  Paris 
itself.  The  fortifications  were  strong  enough,  but 
hunger  began  to  do  the  work  of  the  besiegers,  and 
the  garrison,  unwarlike  and  untrained,  began  to  de- 
spair. But  Genevieve's  courage  and  trust  never 
failed  ;  and  finding  no  warriors  willing  to  run  the 
risk  of  going  beyond  the  walls  to  obtain  food  for 
the  women  and  children  who  were  perishing  around 
them,  this  brave  shepherdess  embarked  alone  in  a 
little  boat,  and  guiding  it  down  the  stream,  landed 
beyond  the  Frankish  camp,  and  repairing  to  the  dif- 
ferent Gallic  cities,  she  implored  them  to  send  suc- 
cor to  their  famished  brethren.  She  obtained  com- 
plete success.  Probably  the  Franks  had  no  means 
of  obstructing  the  passage  of  the  river,  so  that  a 
convoy  of  boats  could  easily  penetrate  into  the 
town,  and  at  any  rate  they  looked  upon  Genevieve 
as  something  sacred  and  inspired  whom  they  durst 


The  Shepherd  Girl  of  ATanterre.  119 

not  touch  ;  probably  as  one  of  the  battle-maids  in 
whom  their  own  myths  taught  them  to  believe.  One 
account  indeed  says  that,  instead  of  going  alone  to 
obtain  help,  Genevieve  placed  herself  at  the  head 
of  a  forage  party,  and  that  the  mere  sight  of  her  in- 
spired bearing  caused  them  to  be  allowed  to  enter 
and  return  in  safety  ;  but  the  boat  version  seems 
the  more  probable,  since  a  single  boat  on  the  broad 
river  would  more  easily  elude  the  enemy  than  a 
troop  of  Gauls  pass  through  their  army. 

But  a  city  where  all  the  valor  resided  in  one 
woman  could  not  long  hold  out,  and  in  another  in- 
road, when  Genevieve  was  absent,  Paris  was  actually 
seized  by  the  Franks.  Their  leader,  Hilperik,  was 
absolutely  afraid  of  what  the  mysteriously  brave 
maiden  might  do  to  him,  and  commanded  the  gates 
of  the  city  to  be  carefully  guarded  lest  she  should 
enter  ;  but  Genevieve  learnt  that  some  of  the  chief 
citizens  were  imprisoned,  and  that  Hilperik  intended 
their  death,  and  nothing  could  withhold  her  from 
making  an  effort  in  their  behalf.  The  Franks  had 
made  up  their  minds  to  settle,  and  not  to  destroy. 
They  were  not  burning  and  slaying  indiscriminately, 
but  while  despising  the  Romans,  as  they  called  the 
Gauls,  f'oi  their  cowardice,  they  were  in  awe  of  their 
superior  civilization  and  knowledge  of  arts.  The 
country  people  had  free  access  to  the  city,  and  Gen- 
evieve, in  her  homely  gown  and  veil,  passed  by  Hil- 
perik's  guards  without  being  suspected  of  being 
more  than  any  ordinary  Gaulish  village  maid  ;  and 
thus  she  fearlessly  made  her  way,  even  to  the  old 
Roman  halls,  where  the  long-haired  Hilperik  was 
holding  his  wild  carousal.  Would  that  we  knew 
more  of  that  interview,  —  one  of  the  most  striking 
that  ever  took  place  !  We  can  only  picture  to  our- 
selves the  Roman  tasselated  pavement  bestrewn 
with  wine,  bones,  and  fragments  of  the  barbarous 
revelry.  There  were  untamed  Franks,  their  sun- 
burnt hair  tied  up  in  a  knot  at  the  top  of  their  heads, 


120  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

and  falling  down  like  a  horse's  tail,  their  faces  close 
shaven,  except  two  huge  moustaches,  and  dressed 
in  tight  leather  garments,  with  swords  at  their  wide 
belts.  Some  slept,  some  feasted,  some  greased  their 
long  locks,  some  shouted  out  their  favorite  war-songs 
around  the  table,  which  was  covered  with  the  spoils  of 
churches,  and  at  their  head  sat  the  wild,  long-haired 
chieftain,  who  was  a  few  years  later  driven  away  by 
his  own  followers  for  his  excesses, —  the  whole 
scene  was  all  that  was  abhorrent  to  a  pure,  devout, 
and  faithful  nature,  most  full  of  terror  to  a  woman, 
Yet  there,  in  her  strength,  stood  the  peasant  maiden, 
her  heart  full  of  trust  and  pity,  her  looks  full  of  the 
power  that  is  given  by  fearlessness  of  them  that  can 
kill  the  body.  What  she  said  we  do  not  know,  — 
we  only  know  that  the  barbarous  Hilperik  was  over- 
awed ;  he  trembled  before  the  expostulations  of  the 
brave  woman,  and  granted  all  she  asked,  —  the  safety 
of  his  prisoners,  and  mercy  to  the  terrified  inhab- 
itants. No  wonder  that  the  people  of  Paris  have 
ever  since  looked  back  to  Genevieve  as  their  pro- 
tectress, and  that  in  after  ages  she  has  grown  to  be 
the  patron  saint  of  the  city. 

She  lived  to  see  the  son  of  Hilperik,  Chlodweh, 
or,  as  he  was  more  commonly  called,  Clovis,  marry 
a  Christian  wife,  Clotilda,  and  after  a  time  become 
a  Christian.  She  saw  the  foundation  of  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Notre  Dame,  and  of  the  two  famous  churches 
of  St.  Denys  and  of  St.  Martin  of  Tours,  and  gave 
her  full  share  to  the  first  efforts  for  bringing  the 
rude  and  bloodthirsty  conquerors  to  some  knowl- 
edge of  Christian  faith,  mercy,  and  purity.  After  a 
life  of  constant  prayer  and  charity  she  died,  three 
months  after  King  Clovis,  in  the  year  512,  the  89th 
of  her  age.* 

*  Perhaps  the  exploits  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans  were  the  most  like 
those  of  Genevieve,  but  they  are  not  here  added  to  our  collection  of 
'•  Golden  Deeds,"  because  the  Maid's  belief  that  she  was  directly  in- 
spired removes  them  from  the  ordinary-  class.  Alas  !  the  English  did 
not  treat  her  as  Hilperik  treated  Genevieve. 


LEO   THE    SLAVE. 
a.  d.  533. 

THE  Franks  had  fully  gained  possession  of  all 
the  north  of  Gaul,  except  Brittany.  Chlodweh 
had  made  them  Christians  in  name,  but  they  still 
remained  horribly  savage,  —  and  the  life  of  the  Gauls 
under  them  was  wretched.  The  Burgundians  and 
Visigoths  who  had  peopled  the  southern  and  east- 
ern provinces  were  far  from  being  equally  violent. 
They  had  entered  on  their  settlements  on  friendly 
terms,  and  even  showed  considerable  respect  for 
the  Roman-Gallic  senators,  magistrates,  and  higher 
clergy,  who  all  remained  unmolested  in  their  digni- 
ties and  riches.  Thus  it  was  that  Gregory,  Bishop 
jof  Langres,  was  a  man  of  high  rank  and  considera- 
tion in  the  Burgundian  kingdom,  whence  the  Chris- 
tian Queen  Clotilda  had  come  ;  and  even  after  the 
Burgundians  had  been  subdued  by  the  four  sons  of 
Chlodweh,  he  continued  a  rich  and  prosperous  man. 
After  one  of  the  many  quarrels  and  reconcilia- 
tions between  these  fierce  brethren,  there  was  an 
exchange  of  hostages  for  the  observance  of  the  terms 
of  the  treaty.  These  were  not  taken  from  among 
the  Franks,  who  were  too  proud  to  submit  to  cap- 
tivity, but  from  among  the  Gaulish  nobles,  a  much 
more  convenient  arrangement  to  the  Frankish  kings, 
who  cared  for  the  life  of  a  "  Roman  "  infinitely  less 
than  even  for  the  life  of  a  Frank.     Thus  many  young 


122  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

men  of  senatorial  families  were  exchanged  between 
the  domains  of  Theodrik  to  the  south,  and  of  Hilde- 
bert  to  the  northward,  and  quartered  among  Frank- 
ish  chiefs,  with  whom  at  first  they  had  nothing  more 
to  endure  than  the  discomfort  of  living  as  guests 
with  such  rude  and  coarse  barbarians.  But  ere 
long  fresh  quarrels  broke  out  between  Theodrik 
and  Hildebert,  and  the  unfortunate  hostages  were 
at  once  turned  into  slaves.  Some  of  them  ran  away 
if  they  were  near  the  frontier,  but  Bishop  Gregory 
was  in  the  utmost  anxiety  about  his  young  nephew 
Attalus,  who  had  been  last  heard  of  as  being  placed 
under  the  charge  of  a  Frank  who  lived  between 
Treves  and  Metz.  The  Bishop  sent  emissaries  to 
make  secret  inquiries,  and  they  brought  word  that 
the  unfortunate  youth  had  indeed  been  reduced  to 
slavery,  and  was  made  to  keep  his  master's  herds  of 
horses.  Upon  this  the  uncle  again  sent  off  his  mes- 
sengers with  presents  for  the  ransom  of  Attalus,  but 
the  Frank  rejected  them,  saying,  "  One  of  such  high 
race  can  only  be  redeemed  for  ten  pounds'  weight 
of  gold." 

This  was  beyond  the  Bishop's  means,  and  while 
he  was  considering  how  to  raise  the  sum,  the  slaves 
were  all  lamenting  for  their  young  lord,  to  whom 
they  were  much  attached,  till  one  of  them,  named 
Leo,  the  cook  to  the  household,  came  to  the  Bishop, 
saying  to  him,  "  If  thou  wilt  give  me  leave  to  go,  I 
will  deliver  him  from  captivity."  The  Bishop  re- 
plied that  he  gave  free  permission,  and  the  slave  set 
off  for  Treves,  and  there  watched  anxiously  for  an 
opportunity  of  gaining  access  to  Attalus  ;  but  though 
the  poor  young  man  —  no  longer  daintily  dressed, 
bathed,  and  perfumed,  but  ragged  and  squalid  — 
might  be  seen  following  his  herds  of  horses,  he  was 
too  well  watched  for  any  communication  to  be  held 
with  him.  Then  Leo  went  to  a  person,  probably  of 
Gallic  birth,  and  said,  "  Come  with  me  to  this  barba- 


Leo  the  Slave.  123 

rian's  house,  and  there  sell  me  for  a  slave.  Thou 
shalt  have  the  money,  I  only  ask  thee  to  help  me  thus 
far." 

Both  repaired  to  the  Frank's  abode,  the  chief 
among  a  confused  collection  of  clay  and  timber  huts 
intended  for  shelter  during  eating  and  sleeping. 
The  Frank  looked  at  the  slave,  and  asked  him  what 
he  could  do. 

"  I  can  dress  whatever  is  eaten  at  lordly  tables," 
replied  Leo.  "  I  am  afraid  of  no  rival ;  I  only  tell 
thee  the  truth  when  I  say  that  if  thou  wouldst  give 
a  feast  to  the  king  I  could  send  it  up  in  the  neatest 
manner." 

"  Ha  !  "  said  the  barbarian,  "  the  Sun's  day  is 
coming — I  shall  invite  my  kinsmen  and  friends. 
Cook  me  such  a  dinner  as  may  amaze  them,  and 
make  them  say,  '  We  saw  nothing  better  in  the 
king's  house.'  " 

"  Let  me  have  plenty  of  poultry,  and  I  will  do  ac- 
cording to  my  master's  bidding,"  returned  Leo. 

Accordingly,  he  was  purchased  for  twelve  gold 
pieces,  and  on  the  -Sunday  (as  Bishop  Gregory  of 
Tours,  who  tells  the  story,  explains  that  the  barba- 
rians called  the  Lord's  day)  he  produced  a  banquet 
after  the  most  approved  Roman  fashion,  much  to  the 
surprise  and  delight  of  the  Franks,  who  had  never 
tasted  such  delicacies  before,  and  complimented 
their  host  upon  them  all  the  evening.  Leo  gradu- 
ally became  a  great  favorite,  and  was  placed  in  au- 
thority over  the  other  slaves,  to  whom  he  gave  out 
their  daily  portions  of  broth  and  meat ;  but  from  the 
first  he  had  not  shown  any  recognition  of  Attalus, 
and  had  signed  to  him  that  they  must  be  strangers 
to  one  another.  A  whole  year  had  passed  away  in 
this  manner,  when  one  day  Leo  wandered,  as  if  for 
pastime,  into  the  plain  where  Attalus  was  watching 
the  horses,  and  sitting  down  on  the  ground  at  some 
paces  off,  and  with  his  back  towards  his  young  mas- 


124  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

ter,  so  that  they  might  not  be  seen  talking  together, 
he  said,  "  This  is  the  time  for  thoughts  of  home  ! 
When  thou  hast  led  the  horses  to  the  stable  to- 
night, sleep  not.     Be  ready  at  the  first  call !  " 

That  day  the  Frank  lord  was  entertaining  a  large 
number  of  guests,  among  them  his  daughter's  hus- 
band, a  jovial  young  man,  given  to  jesting.  On  go- 
ing to  rest  he  fancied  he  should  be  thirsty  at  night, 
and  called  Leo  to  set  a  pitcher  of  hydromel  by  his 
bedside.  As  the  slave  was  setting  it  down,  the 
Frank  looked  slyly  from  under  his  eyelids,  and  said 
in  joke,  "  Tell  me,  my  father-in-law's  trusty  man, 
wilt  not  thou  some  night  take  one  of  those  horses, 
and  run  away  to  thine  own  home  ? " 

"  Please  God,  it  is  what  I  mean  to  do  this  very 
night,"  answered  the  Gaul,  so  undauntedly  that  the 
Frank  took  it  as  a  jest,  and  answered,  "  I  shall  look 
out  then  that  thou  dost,  not  carry  off  anything  of 
mine,"  and  then  Leo  left  him,  both  laughing. 

All  were  soon  asleep,  and  the  cook  crept  out  to 
the  stable,  where  Attalus  usually  slept  among  the 
horses.  He  was  broad  awake  now,  and  ready  to 
saddle  the  two  swiftest ;  but  he  had  no  weapon  ex- 
cept a  small  lance,  so  Leo  boldly  went  back  to  his 
master's  sleeping  hut,  and  took  down  his  sword  and 
shield,  but  not  without  awaking  him  enough  to  ask 
who  was  moving.  "It  is  I,  —  Leo,"  was  the  an- 
swer, "  I  have  been  to  call  Attalus  to  take  out  the 
horses  early.  He  sleeps  as  hard  as  a  drunkard." 
The  Frank  went  to  sleep  again,  quite  satisfied,  and 
Leo,  carrying  out  the  weapons,  soon  made  Attalus 
feel  like  a  free  man  and  a  noble  once  more.  They 
passed  unseen  out  of  the  enclosure,  mounted  their 
horses,  and  rode  along  the  great  Roman  road  from 
Treves  as  far  as  the  Meuse,  but  they  found  the 
bridge  guarded,  and  were  obliged  to  wait  till  night, 
when  they  cast  their  horses  loose  and  swam  the 
river,   supporting  themselves  on  boards   that  they 


Leo  the  Slave.  125 

found  on  the  bank.  They  had  as  yet  had  no  food 
since  the  supper  at  their  master's,  and  were  thank- 
ful to  find  a  plum-tree  in  the  wood,  with  fruit,  to 
refresh  them  in  some  degree,  before  they  lay  down 
for  the  night.  The  next  morning  they  went  on  in 
the  direction  of  Rheims,  carefully  listening  whether 
there  were  any  sounds  behind,  until,  on  the  broad 
hard-paved  causeway,  they  actually  heard  the  tramp- 
ling of  horses.  Happily  a  bush  was  near,  behind 
which  they  crept,  with  their  naked  swords  before 
them,  and  here  the  riders  actually  halted  for  a  few 
moments  to  arrange  their  harness.  Men  and  horses 
were  both  those  they  feared,  and  they  trembled  at 
hearing  one  say,  "  Woe  is  me  that  those  rogues 
have  made  off,  and  have  not  been  caught !  On  my 
salvation,  if  I  catch  them,  I  will  have  one  hung  and 
the  other  chopped  into  little  bits  !  "  It  was  no 
small  comfort  to  hear  the  trot  of  the  horses  re- 
sumed, and  soon  dying  away  in  the  distance.  That 
same  night  the  two  faint,  hungry,  weary  travellers, 
footsore  and  exhausted,  came  stumbling  into  Rheims, 
looking  about  for  some  person  still  awake  to  tell 
them  the  way  to  the  house  of  the  Priest  Paul,  a 
friend  of  Attalus's  uncle.  They  found  it  just  as 
the  Church  bell  was  ringing  for  matins,  a  sound 
that  must  have  seemed  very  like  home  to  these 
members  of  an  episcopal  household.  They  knocked, 
and  in  the  morning  twilight  met  the  priest  going  to 
his  earliest  Sunday  morning  service. 

Leo  told  his  young  master's  name,  and  how  they 
had  escaped,  and  the  priest's  first  exclamation  was 
a  strange  one :  "  My  dream  is  true.  This  very 
night  I  saw  two  doves,  one  white  and  one  black, 
who  came  and  perched  on  my  hand." 

The  good  man  was  overjoyed,  but  he  scrupled 
to  give  them  any  food,  as  it  was  contrary  to  the 
Church's  rules  for  the  fast  to  be  broken  before 
mass  ;  but  the  travellers  were  half  dead  with  hun- 


126  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

ger,  and  could  only  say,  "  The  good  Lord  pardon 
us,  for,  saving  the  respect  due  to  His  day,  we  must 
eat  something,  since  this  is  the  fourth  day  since  we 
have  touched  bread  or  meat."  The  priest  upon 
this  gave  them  some  bread  and  wine,  and  after  hid- 
ing them  carefully,  went  to  church,  hoping  to  avert 
suspicion  ;  but  their  master  was  already  at  Rheims, 
making  strict  search  for  them,  and  learning  that 
Paul  the  priest  was  a  friend  of  the  Bishop  of  Lan- 
gres.  he  went  to  church,  and  there  questioned  him 
closely.  But  the  priest  succeeded  in  guarding  his 
secret,  and  though  he  incurred  much  danger,  as  the 
Salic  law  was  very  severe  against  concealers  of  run- 
away slaves,  he  kept  Attalus  and  Leo  for  two  days 
till  the  search  was  blown  over,  and  their  strength 
was  restored,  so  that  they  could  proceed  to  Lan- 
gres.  There  they  were  welcomed  like  men  risen 
from  the  dead  ;  the  Bishop  wept  on  the  neck  of  At- 
talus, and  was  ready  to  receive  Leo  as  a  slave  no 
more,  but  a  friend  and  deliverer. 

A  few  days  after  Leo  was  solemnly  led  to  the 
church.  Every  door  was  set  open  as  a  sign  that 
he  might  henceforth  go  whithersoever  he  would. 
Bishop  Gregorius  took  him  by  the  hand,  and, 
standing  before  the  Archdeacon,  declared  that  for 
the  sake  of  the  good  services  rendered  by  his  slave, 
Leo,  he  set  him  free,  and  created  him  a  Roman 
citizen. 

Then  the  Archdeacon  read  a  writing  of  manumis- 
sion. "Whatever  is  done  according  to  the  Roman 
law  is  irrevocable.  According  to  the  constitution 
of  the  Emperor  Constantine,  of  happy  memory,  and 
the  edict  that  declares  that  whosoever  is  manu- 
mitted in  church,  in  the  presence  of  the  bishops, 
priests,  and  deacons,  shall  become  a  Roman  citizen 
under  protection  of  the  Church  :  from  this  day  Leo 
becomes  a  member  of  the  city,  free  to  go  and  come 
where  he  will  as  if  he  had  been  born  of  free  parents. 


Leo  the  Slave.  127 

From  this  day  forward,  he  is  exempt  from  all  sub- 
jection of  servitude,  of  all  duty  of  a  freed-man,  all 
bond  of  clientship.  He  is  and  shall  be  free,  with 
full  and  entire  freedom,  and  shall  never  cease  to  be- 
long to  the  body  of  Roman  citizens." 

At  the  same  time  Leo  was  endowed  with  lands, 
which  raised  him  to  the  rank  of  what  the  Franks 
called  a  Roman  proprietor,  —  the  highest  reward  in 
the  Bishop's  power  for  the  faithful  devotion  that  had 
incurred  such  dangers  in  order  to  rescue  the  young 
Attalus  from  his  miserable  bondage. 

Somewhat  of  the  same  kind  of  faithfulness  was 
shown  early  in  the  present  century  by  Ivan  Simonoff, 
a  soldier  servant  belonging  to  Major  Kascambo,  an 
officer  in  the  Russian  army,  who  was  made  prisoner 
by  one  of  the  wild  tribes  of  the  Caucasus.  But 
though  the  soldier's  attachment  to  his  master  was 
quite  as  brave  and  disinterested  as  that  of  the  Gallic 
slave,  yet  he  was  far  from  being  equally  blameless 
in  the  means  he  employed,  and  if  his  were  a  golden 
deed  at  all,  it  was  mixed  with  much  of  iron. 

Major  Kascambo,  with  a  guard  of  fifty  Cossacks, 
was  going  to  take  the  command  of  the  Russian  out- 
post of  Lars,  one  of  the  forts  by  which  the  Russian 
Czars  have  slowly  been  carrying  on  the  aggressive 
warfare  that  has  nearly  absorbed  into  their  vast 
dominions  all  the  mountains  between  the  Caspian 
and  Black  Seas.  On  his  way  he  was  set  upon  by 
seven  hundred  horsemen  of  the  savage  and  inde- 
pendent tribe  of  Tchetchenges.  There  was  a  sharp 
fight,  more  than  half  his  men  were  killed,  and  he 
with  the  rest  made  a  rampart  of  the  carcasses  of 
their  horses,  over  which  they  were  about  to  fire 
their  last  shots,  when  the  Tchetchenges  made  a 
Russian  deserter  call  out  to  the  Cossacks  that  they 
would  let  them  all  escape  provided  they  would  give 
up  their  officer.  Kascambo  on  this  came  forward 
and  delivered  himself  into  their  hands  ;  while  the 


128  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

remainder  of  the  troops  galloped  oft".  His  servant, 
Ivan,  with  a  mule  carrying  his  baggage,  had  been 
hidden  in  a  ravine,  and  now.  instead  of  retreating 
with  the  Cossacks,  came  to  join  his  master.  All 
the  baggage  was,  however,  instantly  seized  and 
divided  among  the  Tchetchenges  ;  nothing  was  left 
but  a  guitar,  which  they  threw  scornfully  to  the 
Major.  He  would  have  let  it  lie.  but  Ivan  picked  it 
up.  and  insisted  on  keeping  it.  Wk  Why  be  dis- 
spirited?"  he  said;  "the  God  of  the  Russians  is 
great,  it  is  the  interest  of  the  robbers  to  save  you, 
they  will  do  you  no  harm/' 

Scouts  brought  word  that  the  Russian  outposts 
were  alarmed,  and  that  troops  were  assembling  to 
rescue  the  officer.  Upon  this  the  seven  hundred 
broke  up  into  small  parties,  leaving  only  ten  men 
on  foot  to  conduct  the  prisoners,  whom  they  forced 
to  take  off  their  iron-shod  boots  and  walk  barefoot 
over  stones  and  thorns,  till  the  Major  was  so  ex- 
hausted that  they  were  obliged  to  drag  him  by  cords 
fastened  to  his  belt. 

After  a  terrible  journey,  the  prisoners  were  placed 
in  a  remote  village,  where  the  Major  had  heavy 
chains  fastened  to  his  hands  and  feet,  and  another 
to  his  neck,  with  a  huge  block  of  oak  as  a  clog  at 
the  other  end  ;  they  half  starved  him.  and  made 
him  sleep  on  the  bare  ground  of  the  hut  in  which  he 
was  lodged.  The  hut  belonged  to  a  huge,  fierce  old 
man  of  sixty,  named  Ibrahim,  whose  son  had  been 
killed  in  a  skirmish  with  the  Russians.  This  man, 
together  with  his  son"s  widow,  were  continually 
trying  to  revenge  themselves  on  their  captive.  The 
only  person  who  showed  him  any  kindness  was  his 
little  grandson,  a  child  of  seven  years  old,  called 
Mamet,  who  often  caressed  him.  and  brought  him 
food  by  stealth.  Ivan  was  also  in  the  same  hut, 
but  less  heavily  ironed  than  his  master,  and  able  to 
attempt  a  few  alleviations  for  his  wretched  condition. 


Leo  the  Slave.  129 

An  interpreter  brought  the  Major  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  a  reed  pen,  and  commanded  him  to  write  to  his 
friends  that  he  might  be  ransomed  for  10,000  rou- 
bles, but  that  if  the  whole  sum  were  not  paid,  he 
would  be  put  to  death.  He  obeyed,  but  he  knew 
that  his  friends  could  not  possibly  raise  such  a  sum, 
and  his  only  hope  was  in  the  government,  which 
had  once  ransomed  a  colonel  who  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  same  tribe. 

These  Tchetchenges  professed  to  be  Mahometans, 
but  their  religion  sat  very  loose  upon  them,  and 
they  were  utter  barbarians.  One  piece  of  respect 
they  paid  the  Major's  superior  education  was  curi- 
ous, —  they  made  him  judge  in  all  the  disputes  that 
arose.  The  houses  in  the  village  were  hollowed 
out  under  ground,  and  the  walls  only  raised  three 
or  four  feet,  and  then  covered  by  a  flat  roof,  formed  of 
beaten  clay,  where  the  inhabitants  spent  much  of 
their  time.  Kascambo  was  every  now  and  then 
brought,  in  all  his  chains,  to  the  roof  of  the  hut, 
which  served  as  a  tribunal  whence  he  was  expected 
to  dispense  justice.  For  instance,  a  man  had  com- 
missioned his  neighbor  to  pay  five  roubles  to  a  per- 
son in  another  valley,  but  the  messenger's  horse 
having  died  by  the  way,  a  claim  was  set  up  to  the 
roubles  to  make  up  for  it.  Both  parties  collected  all 
their  friends,  and  a  bloody  quarrel  was  about  to 
take  place,  when  they  agreed  to  refer  the  question 
to  the  prisoner,  who  was  accordingly  set  upon  his 
judgment-seat. 

"  Pray,"  said  he,  "  if,  instead  of  giving  you  five 
roubles,  your  comrade  had  desired  you  to  carry  his 
greetings  to  his  creditor,  would  not  your  horse  have 
died  all  the  same  ?  " 

"  Most  likely." 

"  Then   what   should    you   have    done    with    the 
greetings  ?    Should  you  have  kept  them  in  compen- 
sation ?     My  sentence  is   that   you    give   back  the 
9 


130  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

roubles,  and  that  your  comrade  gives  }-ou  a  greet- 
ing/' 

The  whole  assembly  approved  the  decision,  and 
the  man  only  grumbled  out.  as  he  gave  back  the 
money.  i- 1  knew  I  should  lose  it,  if  that  dog  of  a 
Christian  meddled  with  it.'; 

All  this  respect,  however,  did  not  avail  to  procure 
any  better  usage  for  the  unfortunate  judge,  whose 
health  was  suffering  severely  under  his  privations. 
Ivan,  however,  had  recommended  himself  in  the 
same  way  as  Leo.  by  his  perfections  as  a  cook,  and 
moreover  he  was  a  capital  buffoon.  His  fetters 
were  sometimes  taken  off  that  he  might  divert  the 
villagers  by  his  dances  and  strange  antics  while  his 
master  played  the  guitar.  Sometimes  they  sang 
Russian  songs  together  to  the  instrument,  and  on 
these  occasions  the  Major's  hands  were  released 
that  he  might  play  on  it  :  but  one  day  he  was  un- 
fortunately heard  playing  in  his  chains  for  his  own 
amusement,  and  from  that  time  he  was  never  re- 
leased from  his  fetters. 

In  the  course  of  a  year,  three  urgent  letters  had 
been  sent ;  but  no  notice  was  taken  of  them,  and 
Ivan  began  to  despair  of  aid  from  home,  and  set 
himself  to  work.  His  first  step  was  to  profess  him- 
self a  Mahometan.  He  durst  not  tell  his  master  till 
the  deed  was  done,  and  then  Kascambo  was  infi- 
nitely shocked  :  but  the  act  did  not  procure  Ivan  so 
much  freedom  as  he  had  hoped.  He  was.  indeed,  no 
longer  in  chains,  but  he  was  evidently  distrusted,  and 
was  so  closely  watched,  that  the  only  way  in  which  he 
could  communicate  with  his  master  was  when  they 
were  set  to  sing  together,  when  they  chanted  out 
question  and  answer  in  Russ.  unsuspected,  to  the 
tune  of  their  national  airs.  He  was  taken  on  an  ex- 
pedition against  the  Russians,  and  very  nearly  killed 
bv  the  suspicious  Tchetchenges  on  one  side,  and  by 
the  Cossacks  on  the  other,  as  a  deserter.    He  saved  a 


Leo  the  Slave.  131 

young  man  of  the  tribe  from  drowning  ;  but  though 
he  thus  earned  the  friendship  of  the  family,  the  rest 
of  the  villagers  hated  and  dreaded  him  all  the  more, 
since  he  had  not  been  able  to  help  proving  himself 
a  man  of  courage,  instead  of  the  feeble  buffoon  he 
had  tried  to  appear. 

Three  months  after  this  expedition,  another  took 
place  ;  but  Ivan  was  not  allowed  even  to  know  of  it. 
He  saw  preparations  making,  but  nothing  was  said 
to  him  ;  only  one  morning  he  found  the  village  en- 
tirely deserted  by  all  the  younger  men,  and  as  he 
wandered  round  it,  the  aged  ones  would  not  speak 
to  him.  A  child  told  him  that  his  father  meant  to 
kill  him,  and  on  the  roof  of  her  house  stood  the  sis- 
ter of  the  man  he  had  saved,  making  signals  of  great 
terror,  and  pointing  towards  Russia.  Home  he 
went,  and  found  that,  besides  old  Ibrahim,  his  mas- 
ter was  watched  by  a  warrior,  who  had  been  pre- 
vented by  an  intermitting  fever  from  joining  the  ex- 
pedition. He  was  convinced  that  if  the  tribe  re- 
turned unsuccessful,  the  murder  of  both  himself  and 
his  master  was  certain  ;  but  he  resolved  not  to  fly 
alone,  and  as  he  busied  himself  in  preparing  the 
meal,  he  sung  the  burden  of  a  Russian  ballad,  inter- 
mingled with  words  of  encouragement  for  his  mas- 
ter: — 

The  time  is  come  ; 

Hai  Luli ! 
The  time  is  come, 

Hai  Luli  ! 
Our  woe  is  at  end, 

Hai  Luli  ! 
Or  we  die  at  once  ! 

Hai  Luli  ! 
To-morrow,  to-morrow, 

Hai  Luli  ! 
We  are  off  for  a  town, 

Hai  Luli  ! 


132  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

For  a  fine,  fine  town, 

Hai  Luli  ! 
But  I  name  no  names, 

Hai  Luli  ! 
Courage,  courage,  master  dear, 

Hai  Luli  ! 
Never,  never,  despair, 

Hai  Luli  ! 
For  the  God  of  the  Russians  is  great, 

Hai  Luli ! 

Poor  Kascambo,  broken  down,  sick,  and  despair- 
ing, only  muttered,  "Do  as  you  please,  only  hold 
your  peace." 

Ivan's  cookery  incited  the  additional  guard  to  eat 
so  much  supper  that  he  brought  on  a  severe  attack 
of  his  fever,  and  was  obliged  to  go  home  ;  but  old 
Ibrahim,  instead  of  going  to  bed,  sat  down  on  a  log 
of  wood  opposite  the  prisoner,  and  seemed  resolved 
to'watch  him  all  night.  The  woman  and  child  went 
to  bed  in  the  inner  room,  and  Ivan  signed  to  his 
master  to  take  the  guitar,  and  began  to  dance.  The 
old  man's  axe  was  in  an  open  cupboard  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  and  after  many  gambols  and  con- 
tortions, during  which  the  Major  could  hardly  con- 
trol his  fingers  to  touch  the  strings,  Ivan  succeeded 
in  laying  his  hand  upon  it,  just  when  the  old  man 
was  bending  over  the  fire  to  mend  it.  Then,  as 
Ibrahim  desired  that  the  music  should  cease,  he  cut 
him  down  with  a  single  blow,  on  his  own  hearth. 
And  the  daughter-in-law  coming  out  to  see  what  had 
happened,  he  slew  her  with  the  same  weapon.  And 
then,  alas  !  in  spite  of  the  commands,  entreaties, 
and  cries  of  his  master,  he  dashed  into  the  inner 
room,  and  killed  the  sleeping  child,  lest  it  should 
give  the  alarm.  Kascambo,  utterly  helpless  to  save, 
fell  almost  fainting  upon  the  bloody  floor,  and  did 
not  cease  to  reproach  Ivan,  who  was  searching  the 
old  man's  pockets  for  the  key  of  the  fetters,  but  it 


Leo  the  Slave.  133 

was  not  there,  nor  anywhere  else  in  the  hut,  and  the 
irons  were  so  heavy  that  escape  was  impossible  in 
them.  Ivan  at  last  knocked  off  the  clog  and  the 
chains  on  the  wrist  with  the  axe,  but  he  could  not 
break  the  chains  round  the  legs,  and  could  only 
fasten  them  as  close  as  he  could  to  hinder  them 
clanking.  Then  securing  all  the  provision  he  could 
carry,  and  putting  his  master  into  his  military  cloak, 
obtaining  also  a  pistol  and  dagger,  they  crept  out, 
but  not  ort  the  direct  road.  It  was  February,  and 
the  ground  was  covered  with  snow.  All  night  they 
walked  easily,  but  at  noon  the  sun  so  softened  it 
that  they  sank  in  at  every  step,  and  the  Major's 
chains  rendered  each  motion  terrible  labor.  It  was 
only  on  the  second  night  that  Ivan,  with  his  axe, 
succeeded  in  breaking  through  the  fastenings,  and 
by  that  time  the  Major's  legs  were  so  swollen  and 
stiffened  that  he  could  not  move  without  extreme 
pain.  However,  he  was  dragged  on  through  the 
wild  mountain  paths,  and  then  over  the  plains  for 
several  days  more,  till  they  were  on  the  confines  of 
another  tribe  of  Tchetchenges,  who  were  overawed 
by  Russia,  and  in  a  sort  of  unwilling  alliance.  Here, 
however,  a  sharp  storm  and  a  fall  into  the  water 
completely  finished  Kascambo's  strength,  and  he 
sank  down  on  the  snow,  telling  Ivan  to  go  home  and 
explain  his  fate,  and  give  his  last  message  to  his 
mother. 

"  If  you  perish  here,"  said  Ivan,  "  trust  me,  nei- 
ther your  mother  nor  mine  will  ever  see  me." 

He  covered  his  master  with  his  cloak,  gave  him 
the  pistol,  and  walked  on  to  a  hut,  where  he  found 
a  Tchetchenge  man,  and  told  him  that  here  was  a 
means  of  obtaining  two  hundred  roubles.  He  had 
only  to  shelter  the  Major  as  a  guest  for  three  days, 
whilst  Ivan  himself  went  on  to  Mosdok,  to  procure 
the  money,  and  bring  back  help  for  his  master.  The 
man  was  full  of  suspicion,  but  Ivan  prevailed,  and 


134  -A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Kascambo  was  carried  into  the  village,  nearly  dying, 
and  was  very  ill  all  the  time  of  his  servant's  ab- 
sence. Ivan  set  off  for  the  nearest  Russian  station, 
where  he  found  some  of  the  Cossacks  who  had  been 
present  when  the  Major  was  taken.  All  eagerly 
subscribed  to  raise  the  two  hundred  roubles,  but  the 
Colonel  would  not  let  Ivan  go  back  alone,  as  he  had 
engaged  to  do,  and  sent  a  guard  of  Cossacks.  This 
had  nearly  been  fatal  to  the  Major,  for  as  soon  as 
his  host  saw  the  lances,  he  suspected  treachery,  and 
dragging  his  poor  sick  guest  to  the  roof  of  the  house, 
he  tied  him  up  to  a  stake,  and  stood  over  him  with 
a  pistol,  shouting  to  Ivan,  "  If  you  come  nearer,  I 
shall  blow  his  brains  out,  and  I  have  fifty  cartridges 
more  for  my  enemies,  and  the  traitor  who  leads 
them." 

"  No  traitor  !  "  cried  Ivan.  "  Here  are  the  rou- 
bles.    I  have  kept  my  word  !  " 

"  Let  the  Cossacks  go  back,  or  I  shall  fire." 

Kascambo  himself  begged  the  officer  to  retire, 
and  Ivan  went  back  with  the  detachment,  and  re- 
turned alone.  Even  then  the  suspicious  host  made 
him  count  out  the  roubles  at  a  hundred  paces  from 
the  house,  and  at  once  ordered  him  out  of  sight ; 
but  then  went  up  to  the  roof,  and  asked  the  Major's 
pardon  for  all  this  rough  usage. 

"  I  shall  only  recollect  that  you  were  my  host,  and 
kept  your  word,"  said  Kascambo. 

In  a  few  hours  more,  Kascambo  was  in  safety 
among  his  brother-officers.  Ivan  was  made  a  non- 
commissioned officer,  and  some  months  after  was 
seen  by  the  traveller  who  told  the  story,  whistling 
the  air  of  Hai  Luli  at  his  former  master's  wedding- 
feast.  He  was  even  then  scarcely  twenty  years  old, 
and  peculiarly  quiet  and  soft  in  manners. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BLACKWATER. 
991. 

IN  the  evil  days  of  King  Ethelred  the  Unready, 
when  the  teaching  of  good  King  Alfred  was  fast 
fading  away  from  the  minds  of  his  descendants,  and 
self-indulgence  was  ruining  the  bold  and  hardy  hab- 
its of  the  English,  the  fleet  was  allowed  to  fall  into 
decay,  and  Danish  ships  again  ventured  to  appear 
on  the  English  coasts. 

The  first  Northmen  who  had  ravaged  England 
came  eager  for  blood  and  plunder,  and  hating  the 
sight  of  a  Christian  church  as  an  insult  to  their  gods, 
Thor  and  Odin  ;  but  the  lapse  of  a  hundred  years 
had  in  some  degree  changed  the  temper  of  the 
North  ;  and  though  almost  every  young  man  thought 
it  due  to  his  fame  to  have  sailed  forth  as  a  sea-rover, 
yet  the  attacks  of  these  marauders  might  be  bought 
off,  and,  provided  they  had  treasure  to  show  for 
their  voyage,  they  were  willing  to  spare  the  lives 
and  lands  of  the  people  of  the  coasts  they  visited. 

King  Ethelred  and  his  cowardly,  selfish  Court 
were  well  satisfied  with  this  expedient,  and  the  tax 
called  Danegeld  was  laid  upon  the  people,  in  order 
to  raise  a  fund  for  buying  off  the  enemy.  But  there 
were  still  in  England  men  of  bolder  and  truer  hearts, 
who  held  that  bribery  was  false  policy,  merely  in- 
viting, the  enemy  to  come  again  and  again,  and  that 
the  only  wise  course  would  be  in  driving  them  back 


136  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

by  English  valor,  and  keeping  the  fleet  in  a  con- 
dition to  repel  the  "  Long  Serpent  "  ships  before  the 
foe  could  set  foot  upon  the  coast. 

Among  those  who  held  this  opinion  was  Bryth- 
noth,  Earl  of  Essex.  He  was  of  partly  Danish 
descent  himself,  but  had  become  a  thorough  Eng- 
lishman, and  had  long  and  faithfully  served  the 
king  and  his  father.  He  was  a  friend  to  the  clergy, 
a  founder  of  churches  and  convents,  and  his  manor- 
house  of  Hadleigh  was  a  heme  of  hospitality  and 
charity.  It  would  probably  be  a  sort  of  huge  farm- 
yard, full  of  great  barn-like  buildings  and  sheds,  all 
one  story  high  ;  some  of  them  serving  for  store- 
houses, and  others  for  living-rooms  and  places  of 
entertainment  for  his  numerous  servants  and  retain- 
ers, and  for  the  guests  of  all  degrees  who  gathered 
round  him  as  the  chief  dispenser  of  justice  in  his 
East-Saxon  earldom.  When  he  heard  the  advice 
given  and  accepted  that  the  Danes  should  be  bribed, 
instead  of  being  fought  with,  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  he,  at  least,  would  try  to  raise  up  a  nobler 
spirit,  and,  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  life,  would 
show  the  effect  of  making  a  manful  stand  against 
them. 

He  made  his  will,  and  placed  it  in  the  hands  of 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  ;  and  then,  retiring 
to  Hadleigh,  he  provided  horses  and  arms,  and 
caused  all  the  young  men  in  his  earldom  to  be 
trained  in  warlike  exercises,  according  to  the  good 
old  English  law.  that  every  man  should  be  provided 
with  weapons,  and  know  the  use  of  them. 

The  Danes  sailed  forth,  in  the  year  991,  with 
ninety-three  vessels,  the  terrible  "  Long  Serpents," 
carved  with  snakes'  heads  at  the  prow,  and  the 
stern  finished  as  the  gilded  tail  of  the  reptile  ;  and 
many  a  lesser  ship,  meant  for  carrying  plunder. 
The  Sea  King,  Olaf  (or  AnlafT),  was  the  leader; 
and  as  tidings  came  that  their  sails  had  been  seen 


The  Battle  of  the  Blackwater.  137 

upon  the  North  Sea,  more  earnest  than  ever  rang 
out  the  petition  in  the  Litany,  "  From  the  fury  of 
the  Northmen,  good  Lord,  deliver  us." 

Sandwich  and  Ipswich  made  no  defence,  and 
were  plundered  ;  and  the  fleet  then  sailed  into  the 
mouth  of  the  river  Blackwater,  as  far  as  Maldon, 
where  the  ravagers  landed,  and  began  to  collect 
spoil.  When,  however,  they  came  back  to  their 
ships,  they  found  that  the  tide  would  not  yet  serve 
them  to  re-embark ;  and  upon  the  farther  bank  of 
the  river  bristled  the  spears  of  a  body  of  warriors, 
drawn  up  in  battle  array,  but  in  numbers  far  inferior 
to  their  own. 

Anlaff  sent  a  messenger,  over  the  wooden  bridge 
that  crossed  the  river,  to  the  Earl,  who,  he  under- 
stood, commanded  this  small  army.  The  brave  old 
man,  his  gray  hair  hanging  down  beneath  his  hel- 
met, stood,  sword  in  hand,  at  the  head  of  his  war- 
riors. 

';  Lord  Earl,"  said  the  messenger,  "  I  come  to 
bid  thee  to  yield  to  us  thy  treasure,  for  thy  safety. 
Buy  off  the  fight,  and  we  will  ratify  a  peace  with 
gold." 

"  Hear,  O  thou  sailor  !  "  was  Brythnoth's  answer, 
"the  reply  of  this  people.  Instead  of  Danegeld, 
thou  shalt  have  from  them  the  edge  of  the  sword, 
and  the  point  of  the  spear.  Here  stands  an  Eng- 
lish Earl,  who  will  defend  his  earldom  and  the 
lands  of  his  king.  Point  and  edge  shall  judge 
between  us." 

Back  went  the  Dane  with  his  message  to  Anlaff, 
and  the  fight  began  around  the  bridge,  where  the 
Danes  long  strove  to  force  their  way  across,  but 
were  always  driven  back  by  the  gallant  East-Sax- 
ons. The  tide  had  risen,  and  for  some  time  the 
two  armies  only  shot  at  one  another  with  bows  and 
arrows  ;  but  when  it  ebbed,  leaving  the  salt-marshes 
dry,  the  stout  old  Earl's  love  of  fair-play  overpow- 


138  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

ered  his  prudence,  and  he  sent  to  offer  the  enemy  a 
free  passage,  and  an  open  field  in  which  to  measure 
their  strength. 

The  numbers  were  too  unequal ;  but  the  battle 
was  long  and  bloody  before  the  English  could  be 
overpowered.  Brythnoth  slew  one  of  the  chief 
Danish  leaders  with  his  own  hand,  but  not  without 
receiving  a  wound.  He  was  still  able  to  fight  on, 
though  with  ebbing  strength  and  failing  numbers. 
His  hand  was  pierced  by  a  dart ;  but  a  young  boy 
at  his  side  instantly  withdrew  it,  and,  launching  it 
back  again,  slew  the  foe  who  had  aimed  it.  An- 
other Dane,  seeing  the  Earl  faint  and  sinking,  ad- 
vanced to  plunder  him  of  his  ring  and  jewelled 
weapons  ;  but  he  still  had  strength  to  lay  the 
spoiler  low  with  his  battle-axe.  This  was  his  last 
blow  ;  he  gathered  his  strength  for  one  last  cheer 
to  his  brave  men,  and  then,  sinking  on  the  ground, 
he  looked  up  to  heaven,  exclaiming  :  "  I  thank  thee, 
Lord  of  nations,  for  all  the  joys  I  have  known  on 
earth.  Now,  O  mild  Creator  !  have  I  the  utmost 
need  that  Thou  shouldst  grant  grace  unto  my  soul, 
that  my  spirit  may  speed  to  Thee  with  peace,  O 
King  of  angels  !  to  pass  into  Thy  keeping.  I  sue 
to  Thee  that  Thou  suffer  not  the  rebel  spirits  of 
hell  to  vex  my  parting  soul !  *' 

With  these  words  he  died  ;  but  an  aged  follower, 
of  like  spirit,  stood  over  his  corpse,  and  exhorted 
his  fellows.  "  Our  spirit  shall  be  the  hardier,  and 
our  soul  the  greater,  the  fewer  our  numbers  be- 
come !  "  he  cried.  "  Here  lies  our  chief,  the  brave, 
the  good,  the  much-loved  lord,  who  has  blessed  us 
with  many  a  gift.  Old  as  I  am.  I  will  not  yield, 
but  avenge  his  death,  or  lay  me  at  his  side.  Shame 
befall  him  that  thinks  to  fly  from  such  a  field  as 
this  !  " 

Nor  did  the  English  warriors  fly.  Night  came 
down,  at  last,  upon  the  battle-field,  and  saved  the 


The  Battle  of  the  Blackwater.  139 

lives  of  the  few  survivors  ;  but  they  were  forced  to 
leave  the  body  of  their  lord,  and  the  Danes  bore 
away  with  them  his  head  as  a  trophy,  and  with  it, 
alas  !  ten  thousand  pounds  of  silver  from  the  king, 
who,  in  his  sluggishness  and  weakness,  had  left 
Brythnoth  to  fight  and  die  unaided  for  the  cause  of 
the  whole  nation.  One  of  the  retainers,  a  minstrel 
in  the  happy  old  days  of  Hadleigh,  who  had  done 
his  part  manfully  in  the  battle,  had  heard  these  last 
goodly  sayings  of  his  master,  and,  living  on  to 
peaceful  days,  loved  to  rehearse  them  to  the  sound 
of  his  harp,  and  dwell  on  the  glories  of  one  who 
could  die,  but  not  be  defeated. 

Ere  those  better  days  had  come,  another  faithful- 
hearted  Englishman  had  given  his  life  for  his  people. 
In  the  year  10 12,  a  huge  army,  called,  from  thsir 
leader,  "  Thorkill's  Host,"  were  overrunning  Kent, 
and  besieging  Canterbury.  The  Archbishop  yElfeg 
was  earnestly  entreated  to  leave  the  city  while  yet 
there  was  time  to  escape  ;  but  he  replied,  "  None 
but  a  hireling  would  leave  his  flock  in  time  of  dan- 
ger "  ;  and  he  supported  the  resolution  of  the  in- 
habitants, so  that  they  held  out  the  city  for  twenty 
days  ;  and  as  the  wild  Danes  had  very  little  chance 
against  a  well-walled  town,  they  would  probably 
have  saved  it,  had  not  the  gates  been  secretly 
opened  to  them  by  the  traitorous  Abbot  yElfman, 
whom  /Elfeg  had  once  himself  saved,  when  accused 
of  treason  before  the  king. 

The  Danes  slaughtered  all  whom  they  found  in 
the  streets,  and  the  Archbishop's  friends  tried  to 
keep  him  in  the  church,  lest  he  should  run  upon  his 
fate  ;  but  he  broke  from  them,  and,  confronting  the 
enemy,  cried  :  "  Spare  the  guiltless  !  Is  there  glory 
in  shedding  such  blood  ?  Turn  your  wrath  on 
me  !  It  is  I  who  have  denounced  your  cruelty, 
have  ransomed  and  re-clad  your  captives."  The 
Danes  seized  upon  him,  and,  after  he  had  seen  his 


140  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

cathedral  burnt  and  his  clergy  slain,  they  threw  him 
into  a  dungeon,  whence  he  was  told  he  could  only 
come  forth  upon  the  payment  of  a  heavy  ransom. 

His  flock  loved  him,  and  would  have  striven  to 
raise  the  sum  ;  but,  miserably  used  as  they  were  by 
the  enemy,  and  stripped  by  the  exactions  of  the 
Danes,  he  would  not  consent  that  they  should  be 
asked  for  a  further  contribution  on  his  account. 
After  seven  months'  patience  in  his  captivity,  the 
Danish  chiefs,  who  were  then  at  Greenwich,  desired 
him  to  be  brought  into  their  camp,  where  they  had 
Just  been  holding  a  great  feast.  It  was  Easter-eve, 
and  the  quiet  of  that  day  of  calm  waiting  was  dis- 
turbed with  their  songs,  and  shouts  of  drunken 
revelry,  as  the  chained  Archbishop  was  led  to  the 
open  space  where  the  warriors  sat  and  lay  amid 
the  remains  of  their  rude  repast.  The  leader  then 
told  him  that  they  had  agreed  to  let  him  off  for  his 
own  share  with  a'  much  smaller  payment  than  had 
been  demanded,  provided  he  would  obtain  a  largesse 
for  them  from  the  king,  his  master. 

"I  am  not  the  man,"  he  answered,  "to  provide 
Christian  flesh  for  Pagan  wolves  "  ;  and  when  again 
they  repeated  the  demand,  ''Gold  I  have  none  to 
offer  you,  save  the  true  wisdom  of  the  knowledge  of 
the  living  God."  And  he  began,  as  he  stood  in  the 
midst,  to  -reason  to  them  of  righteousness,  temper- 
ance, and  judgment  to  come." 

They  were" mad  with  rage  and  drink.  The  old 
man's  'voice  was  drowned  with  shouts  of  "  Gold, 
Bishop,  —  give  us  gold  !  "  The  bones  and  cups 
that  lav  around  were  hurled  at  him.  and  he  fell  to 
the  ground,  with  the  cry,  "  O  Chief  Shepherd,  guard 
Thine  own  children  !  "  '  As  he  partly  raised  himself, 
axes  were  thrown  at  him  ;  and.  at  last,  a  Dane,  who 
had  begun  to  love  and  listen  to  him  in  his  captivity, 
deemed  it  mercv  to  give  him  a  death-blow  with  an 
axe.     The  English  maintained  that  /Elfeg  had  died 


The  Battle  of  the  Blackwater.  141 

to  save  his  flock  from  cruel  extortion,  and  held  him 
as  a  saint  and  martyr,  keeping  his  death-day  (the 
19th  of  April)  as  a  holiday  ;  and  when  the  Italian 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  (Lanfranc)  disputed  his 
right  to  be  so  esteemed,  there  was  strong  opposi- 
tion and  discontent.  Indeed,  our  own  Prayer-book 
still  retains  his  name,  under  the  altered  form  of  St. 
Alphege  ;  and  surely  no  one  better  merits  to  be 
remembered,  for  having  loved  his  people  far  better 
than  himself. 


GUZMAN    EL   BUENO. 


1293. 


IN  the  early  times  of  Spanish  history,  before  the 
Moors  had  been  expelled  from  the  peninsula, 
or  the  blight  of  Western  gold  had  enervated  the 
nation,  the  old  honor  and  loyalty  of  the  Gothic  race 
were  high  and  pure,  fostered  by  constant  combats 
with  a  generous  enemy.  The  Spanish  Arabs  were 
indeed  the  flower  of  the  Mahometan  races,  endowed 
with  the  vigor  and  honor  of  the  desert  tribes,  yet 
capable  of  culture  and  civilization,  excelling  all  other 
nations  of  their  time  in  science  and  art.  and  almost 
the  equals  of  their  Christian  foes  in  the  attributes 
.of  chivalry.  Wars  with  them  were  a  constant  cru- 
sade, consecrated  in  the  minds  of  the  Spaniards  as 
being  in  the  cause  of  religion,  and  yet  in  some  de- 
gree freed  from  savagery  and  cruelty  by  the  respect 
exacted  by  the  honorable  character  of  the  enemy, 
and  by  the  fact  that  the  civilization  and  learning 
of  the  Christian  kingdoms  were  far  more  derived 
from  the  Moors  than  from  the  kindred  nations  of 
Europe. 

By  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century,  the  Chris- 
tian kingdoms  of  Castille  and  Aragon  were  descend- 
ing from  their  mountain  fastnesses,  and  spreading 
over  the  lovely  plains  of  the  south,  even  to  the 
Mediterranean  coast,  as  one  beautiful  Moorish  city 
after  another  yielded  to  the  persevering  advances 


Guzman  el  Bueno.  143 

of  the  children  of  the  Goths ;  and  in  1291  the 
nephew  of  our  own  beloved  Eleanor  of  Castille, 
Sancho  V.  called  El  Bravo,  ventured  to  invest  the 
city  of  Tarifa. 

This  was  the  western  buttress  of  the  gate  of  the 
Mediterranean,  the  base  of  the  northern  Pillar  of 
Hercules,  and  esteemed  one  of  the  gates  of  Spain. 
By  it  five  hundred  years  previously  had  the  Moorish 
enemy  first  entered  Spain  at  the  summons  of  Count 
Julian,  under  their  leader  Tarif-abu-Zearah,  whose 
name  was  bestowed  upon  it  in  remembrance  of  his 
landing  there.  The  form  of  the  ground  is  said  to 
be  like  a  broken  punch-bowl,  with  the  broken  part 
towards  the  sea.  The  Moors  had  fortified  the  city 
with  a  surrounding  wall  and  twenty-six  towers,  and 
had  built  a  castle  with  a  lighthouse  on  a  small  adja- 
cent island,  called  Isla  Verde,  which  they  had  con- 
nected with  the  city  by  a  causeway.  Their  fortifica- 
tions, always  admirable,  have  existed  ever  since,  and 
in  181 1,  another  five  hundred  years  after,  were  suc- 
cessfully defended  against  the  French  by  a  small 
force  of  British  troops  under  the  command  of  Colo- 
nel Hugh  Gough,  better  known  in  his  old  age  as  the 
victor  of  Aliwal.  The  walls  were  then  unable  to 
support  the  weight  of  artillery,  for  which  of  course 
they  had  never  been  built,  but  were  perfectly  effec- 
tive against  escalade. 

For  six  months  King  Sancho  besieged  Tarifa  by 
land  and  sea,  his  fleet,  hired  from  the  Genoese,  ly- 
ing in  the  waters  where  the  battle  of  Trafalgar  was 
to  be  fought.  The  city  at  length  yielded  under 
stress  of  famine,  but  the  king  feared  that  he  had  no 
resources  to  enable  him  to  keep  it,  and  intended  to 
dismantle  and  forsake  it,  when  the  Grand  Master  of 
the  military  order  of  Calatrava  offered  to  undertake 
the  defence  with  his  knights  for  one  year,  hoping 
that  some  other  noble  would  come  forward  at  the 
end  of  that  time  and  take  the  charge  upon  himself. 


144  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

He  was  not  mistaken.  The  noble  who  made 
himself  responsible  for  this  post  of  danger  was  a 
Leonese  knight  of  high  distinction,  by  name  Alonso 
Perez  de  Guzman,  already  called  El  Bueno.  or  "  The 
Good,"  from  the  high  qualities  he  had  manifested  in 
the  service  of  the  late  king.  Don  Alonso  VI.,  by 
whom  he  had  always  stood  when  the  present  king, 
Don  Sancho,  was  in  rebellion.  The  offer  was  read- 
ily accepted,  and  the  whole  Guzman  family  removed 
to  Tarifa,  with  the  exception  of  the  eldest  son,  who 
was  in  the  train  of  the  Infant  Don  Juan,  the  second 
son  of  the  late  king,  who  had  always  taken  part  with 
his  father  against  his  brother,  and  on  Sancho's  ac- 
cession, continued  his  enmity,  and  fled  to  Portugal. 

The  king  of  Portugal,  however,  being  requested 
by  Sancho  not  to  permit  him  to  remain  there,  he 
proceeded  to  offer  his  services  to  the  king  of  Mo- 
rocco, Yusuf-ben-Yacoub.  for  whom  he  undertook  to 
recover  Tarifa,  if  5,000  horse  were  granted  to  him 
for  the  purpose.  The  force  would  have  been  most 
disproportionate  for  the  attack  of  such  a  city  as  Ta- 
rifa, but  Don  Juan  reckoned  on  means  that  he  had 
already  found  efficacious  ;  when  he  had  obtained  the 
surrender  of  Zamora  to  his  father  by  threatening  to 
put  to  death  a  child  of  the  lady  in  command  of  the 
fortress. 

Therefore,  after  summoning  Tarifa  at  the  head  of 
his  5,000  Moors,  he  led  forth  before  the  gates  the 
boy  who  had  been  confided  to  his  care,  and  declared 
that,  unless  the  city  were  yielded  instantly,  Guzman 
should  behold  the  death  of  his  own  son  at  his  hand  ! 
Before,  he  had  had  to  deal  with  a  weak  woman  on  a 
question  of  divided  allegiance.  It  was  otherwise 
here.  The  point  was  whether  the  city  should  be 
made  over  to  the  enemies  of  the  faith  and  country, 
whether  the  plighted  word  of  a  loyal  knight  should 
be  broken.  The  boy  was  held  in  the  grasp  of  the 
cruel  prince,  stretching  out  his  hands  and  weeping 


Guzman  el  Bueno.  145 

as  he  saw  his  father  upon  the  walls.  Don  Alonso's 
eyes,  we  are  told,  filled  with  tears  as  he  cast  one 
long,  last  look  at  his  firstborn,  whom  he  might  not 
save  except  at  the  expense  of  his  truth  and  honor. 

The  struggle  was  bitter,  but  he  broke  forth  at 
last  in  these  words  :  —  "I  did  not  beget  a  son  to  be 
made  use  of  against  my  country,  but  that  he  should 
serve  her  against  her  foes.  Should  Don  Juan  put 
him  to  death,  he  will  but  confer  honor  on  me,  true 
life  on  my  son,  and  on  himself  eternal  shame  in 
this  world  and  everlasting  wrath  after  death.  So  far 
am  I  from  yielding  this  place  or  betraying  my  trust, 
that  in  case  he  should  want  a  weapon  for  his  cruel 
purpose,  there  goes  my  knife  !  " 

He  cast  the  knife  in  his  belt  over  the  walls,  and 
returned  to  the  castle,  where,  commanding  his  coun- 
tenance, he  sat  down  to  table  with  his  wife.  Loud 
shouts  of  horror  and  dismay  almost  instantly  called 
him  forth  again.  He  was  told  that  Don  Juan  had 
been  seen  to  cut  the  boy's  throat  in  a  transport  of 
blind  rage.  "  I  thought  the  enemy  had  broken  in," 
he  calmly  said,  and  went  back  again. 

The  Moors  themselves  were  horror-struck  at  the 
atrocity  of  their  ally,  and  as  the  siege  was  hopeless 
they  gave  it  up  ;  and  Don  Juan,  afraid  and  ashamed 
to  return  to  Morocco,  wandered  to  the  court  of 
Granada. 

King  Sancho  was  lying  sick  at  Alcala  de  Henares 
when  the  tidings  of  the  price  of  Guzman's  fidelity 
reached  him.  Touched  to  the  depths  of  his  heart, 
he  wrote  a  letter  to  his  faithful  subject,  comparing 
his  sacrifice  to  that  of  Abraham,  confirming  to  him 
the  surname  of  Good,  lamenting  his  own  inability  to 
come  and  oifer  his  thanks  and  regrets,  but  entreat- 
ing Guzman's  presence  at  Alcala. 

All  the  way  thither,  the  people  thronged  to  see 
the  man  true  to  his  word  at  such  a  fearful  cost.  The 
court  was  sent  out  to  meet  him,  and  the  king,  after 
10 


146  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

embracing  him,  exclaimed,  "  Here  learn,  ye  knights, 
what  are  exploits  of  virtue.     Behold  your  model." 

Lands  and  honors  were  heaped  upon  Alonso  de 
Guzman,  and  they  were  not  a  mockery  of  his  loss, 
for  he  had  other  sons  to  inherit  them.  He  was  the 
stanch  friend  of  Sancho's  widow  and  son  in  a  long 
and  perilous  minority,  and  died  full  of  years  and 
honors.  The  lands  granted  to  him  were  those  of 
Medina  Sidonia,  which  lie  between  the  rivers  Gua- 
diana  and  Guadalquivir,  and  they  have  ever  since 
been  held  by  his  descendants,  who  still  bear  the 
honored  name  of  Guzman,  witnessing  that  the  man 
who  gave  the  life  of  his  firstborn  rather  than  break 
his  faith  to  the  king  has  left  a  posterity  as  noble  and 
enduring  as  any  family  in  Europe. 


^ 


ill 


V. 


FAITHFUL   TILL   DEATH. 

1308. 

ONE  of  the  ladies  most  admired  by  the  ancient 
Romans  was  Arria,  the  wife  of  Caecina  Pastus, 
a  Roman  who  was  condemned  by  the  Emperor 
Claudius  to  become  his  own  executioner.  Seeing 
him  waver,  his  wife,  who  was  resolved  to  be  with 
him  in  death  as  in  life,  took  the  dagger  from  his 
hand,  plunged  it  into  her  own  breast,  and  with  her 
last  strength  held  it  out  to  him,  gasping  out,  "  It  is 
not  painful,  my  Paetus." 

Such  was  heathen  faithfulness  even  to  death ; 
and  where  the  teaching  of  Christianity  had  not  for- 
bidden the  taking  away  of  life  by  one's  own  hand, 
perhaps  wifely  love  could  not  go  higher.  Yet  Chris- 
tian women  have  endured  a  yet  more  fearful  ordeal 
to  their  tender  affection,  watching,  supporting,  and 
finding  unfailing  fortitude  to  uphold  the  sufferer  in 
agonies  that  must  have  rent  their  hearts. 

Natalia  was  the  fair  young  wife  of  Adrian,  an  of- 
ficer at  Nicomedia,  in  the  guards  of  the  Emperor 
Galerius  Maximianus,  and  only  about  twenty-eight 
years  old.  Natalia  was  a  Christian,  but  her  hus- 
band remained  a  pagan,  until,  when  he  was  charged 
with  the  execution  of  some  martyrs,  their  constancy, 
coupled  with  the  testimony  of  his  own  wife's  virtues, 
triumphed  over  his  unbelief,  and  he  confessed  him- 
self  likewise    a    Christian.      He    was    thrown   into 


148  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

prison,  and  sentenced  to  death,  but  he  prevailed  on 
his  gaoler  to  permit  him  to  leave  the  dungeon  for  a 
time,  that  he  might  see  his  wife.     The  report  came 

to  Natalia  that  he  was  no  longer  in  prison,  and 
she  threw  herself  on  the  ground,  lamenting  aloud : 
"  Now  will  men  point  at  me,  and  say.  k  Behold  the 
wife  of  the  coward  and  apostate,  who,  for  fear  of 
death,  hath  denied  his  God.*  " 

"  O.  thou  noble  and  strong-hearted  woman.'"  said 
Adrian's  voice  at  the  door.  "  I  bless  God  that  I  am 
not  unworthy  of  thee.  Open  the  door,  that  I  may 
bid  thee  farewell." 

But  this  was  not  the  last  farewell,  though  he  duly 
went  back  to  the  prison  ;  for  when,  the  next  day.  he 
had  been  cruelly  scourged  and  tortured  before  the 
tribunal.  Natalia,  with  her  hair  cut  short,  and  wear- 
ing the  disguise  of  a  youth,  was  there  to  tend  and 
comfort  him.  She  took  him  in  her  arms,  saying, 
'•  O.  light  of  mine  eyes,  and  husband  of  mine  heart, 
blessed  art  thou,  who  art  chosen  to  suffer  for  Christ's 
sake." 

On  the  following  day.  the  tyrant  ordered  that 
Adrian's  limbs  should  be  one  by  one  struck  off  on  a 
blacksmith's  anvil,  and  lastly  his  head.  And  still 
it  was  his  wife  who  held  him  and  sustained  him 
through  all.  and.  ere  the  last  stroke  of  the  execu- 
tioner, had  received  his  last  breath.  She  took  up 
one  of  the  severed  hands,  kissed  it.  and  placed  it  in 
her  bosom,  and  escaping  to  Byzantium,  there  spent 
her  life  in  widowhood. 

Nor  among  these  devoted  wives  should  we  pass 
by  Gertrude,  the  wife  of  Rudolph.  Baron  von  der 
Wart,  a  Swabian  nobleman,  who  was  so  ill-advised 
as  to  join  in  a  conspiracy  of  Johann  of  Hapsburg, 
jn  1308.  against  the  Emperor.  Albrecht  I.,  the  son 
of  the  great  and  good  Rudolf  of  Hapsburg. 

This  Johann  was  the  son  of  the  Emperor's  broth- 
er Rudolf,  a  brave  knight  who  had  died  voting,  and 


Faithfitl  till  Death.  149 

Johann  had  been  brought  up  by  a  baron  called  Wal- 
ther  von  Eschenbach,  until,  at  nineteen  years  old, 
he  went  to  his  uncle  to  demand  his  father's  inherit- 
ance. Albrecht  was  a  rude  and  uncouth  man,  and 
refused  disdainfully  the  demand,  whereupon  the 
noblemen  of  the  disputed  territory  stirred  up  the 
young  prince  to  form  a  plot  against  him,  all  having 
evidently  different  views  of  the  lengths  to  which 
they  would  proceed.  This  was  just  at  the  time  that 
the  Swiss,  angry  at  the  overweening  and  oppressive 
behavior  of  Albrecht's  governors,  were  first  taking 
up  arms  to  maintain  that  they  owed  no  duty  to  him 
as  Duke  of  Austria,  but  merely  as  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many. He  set  out  on  his  way  to  chastise  them  as 
rebels,  taking  with  him  a  considerable  train,  of 
whom  his  nephew  Johann  was  one.  At  Baden,  Jo- 
hann, as  a  last  experiment,  again  applied  for  his 
inheritance,  but  by  way  of  answer,  Albrecht  held 
out  a  wreath  of  flowers,  telling  him  they  better  be- 
came his  years  than  did  the  cares  of  government. 
He  burst  into  tears,  threw  the  wreath  upon  the 
ground,  and  fed  his  mind  upon  the  savage  purpose 
of  letting  his  uncle  find  out  what  he  was  fit  for. 

By  and  by,  the  party  came  to  the  banks  of  the 
Reuss,  where  there  was  no  bridge,  and  only  one 
single  boat  to  carry  the  whole  across.  The  first  to 
cross  were  the  Emperor  with  one  attendant,  be- 
sides his  nephew  and  four  of  the  secret  partisans 
of  Johann.  Albrecht's  son  Leopold  was  left  to  fol- 
low with  the  rest  of  the  suite,  and  the  Emperor 
rode  on  towards  the  hills  of  his  home,  towards  the 
Castle  of  Hapsburg,  where  his  father's  noble  qual- 
ities had  earned  the  reputation  which  was  the  cause 
of  all  the  greatness  of  the  line.  Suddenly  his 
nephew  rode  up  to  him,  and  while  one  of  the  con- 
spirators seized  the  bridle  of  his  horse,  exclaimed, 
"  Will  you  now  restore  my  inheritance  ? "  and 
wounded  him  in   the    neck.     The  attendant  flecl ; 


150  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Der  Wart,  who  had  never  thought  murder  was  to 
be  a  part  of  the  scheme,  stood  aghast,  but  the  other 
two  fell  on  the  unhappy  Albrecht,  and  each  gave 
him  a  mortal  wound,  and  then  all  five  fled  in  differ- 
ent directions.  The  whole  horrible  affair  took  place 
full  in  view  of  Leopold  and  the  army  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  and  when  it  became  possible  for 
any  of  them  to  cross,  they  found  that  the  Emperor 
had  just  expired,  with  his  head  in  the  lap  of  a  poor 
woman. 

The  murderers  escaped  into  the  Swiss  moun- 
tains, expecting  shelter  there  ;  but  the  stout,  hon- 
est men  of  the  cantons  were  resolved  not  to  have 
any  connection  with  assassins,  and  refused  to  pro- 
tect them.  Johann  himself,  after  long  and  miser- 
able wanderings  in  disguise,  bitterly  repented, 
owned  his  crime  to  the  Pope,  and  was  received 
into  a  convent ;  Eschenbach  escaped,  and  lived  fif- 
teen years  as  a  cowherd.  The  others  all  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Albrecht, 
and  woful  was  the  revenge  that  was  taken  upon 
them,  and  upon  their  innocent  families  and  re- 
tainers. 

That  Leopold,  who  had  seen  his  father  slain  be- 
fore his  eyes,  should  have  been  deeply  incensed, 
was  not  wonderful,  and  his  elder  brother  Frederick, 
as  Duke  of  Austria,  was  charged  with  the  execu- 
tion of  justice  ;  but  both  brothers  were  horribly 
savage  and  violent  in  their  proceedings,  and  their 
sister  Agnes  surpassed  them  in  her  atrocious  thirst 
for  vengeance.  She  was  the  wife  of  the  king  of 
Hungary,  very  clever  and  discerning,  and  also  sup- 
posed to  be  very  religious,  but  all  better  thoughts 
were  swept  away  by  her  furious  passion.  She  had 
nearly  strangled  Eschenbach's  infant  son  with  her 
own  hands,  when  he  was  rescued  from  her  by  her 
own  soldiers,  and  when  she  was  watching  the  be- 
heading of   sixty-three  vassals  of   another   of  the 


Faithful  till  Death.  151 

murderers,  she  repeatedly  exclaimed,  "  Now  I 
bathe  in  May  dew."  Once,  indeed,  she  met  with 
a  stern  rebuke.  A  hermit,  for  whom  she  had  of- 
fered to  build  a  convent,  answered  her,  "Woman, 
God  is  not  served  by  shedding  innocent  blood  and 
by  building  convents  out  of  the  plunder  of  families, 
but  by  compassion  and  forgiveness  of  injuries." 

Rudolf  von  der  Wart  received  the  horrible  sen- 
tence of  being  broken  on  the  wheel.  On  his  trial 
the  Emperor's  attendant  declared  that  Der  Wart 
had  attacked  Albert  with  his  dagger,  and  the  cry, 
"  How  long  will  ye  suffer  this  carrion  to  sit  on 
horseback  ? "  but  he  persisted  to  the  last  that  he 
had  been  taken  by  surprise  by  the  murder.  How- 
ever, there  was  no  mercy  for  him  ;  and,  by  the 
express  command  of  Queen  Agnes,  after  he  had 
been  bound  upon  one  wheel,  and  his  limbs  broken 
by  heavy  blows  from  the  executioner,  he  was  fast- 
ened to  another  wheel,  which  was  set  upon  a  pole, 
where  he  was  to  linger  out  the  remaining  hours  of 
his  life.  His  young  wife,  Gertrude,  who  had  clung 
to  him  through  all  his  trial,  was  torn  away  and  car- 
ried off  to  the  Castle  of  Kyburg  ;  but  she  made  her 
escape  at  dusk,  and  found  her  way,  as  night  came 
on,  to  the  spot  where  her  husband  hung  still  living 
upon  the  wheel.  That  night  of  agony  was  described 
in  a  letter  ascribed  to  Gertrude  herself.  The  guard 
left  to  watch  fled  at  her  approach,  and  she  prayed 
beneath  the  scaffold  ;  and  then,  heaping  some  heavy 
logs  of  wood  together,  was  able  to  climb  up  near 
enough  to  embrace  him  and  stroke  back  the  hair 
from  his  face,  whilst  he  entreated  her  to  leave  him, 
lest  she  should  be  found  there,  and  fall  under  the 
cruel  revenge  of  the  Queen,  telling  her  that  thus  it 
would  be  possible  to  increase  his  suffering. 

"  I  will  die  with  you,"  she  said,  "  't  is  for  that  I 
came,  and  no  power  shall  force  me  from  you  "  ;  and 
she  prayed  for  the  one  mercy  she  hoped  for,  speedy 
death  for  her  husband. 


152  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

In  Mrs.  Hemans's  beautiful  words  :  — 

"And  bid  me  not  depart,"  she  cried, 

"  My  Rudolf,  say  not  so  ; 
This  is  no  time  to  quit  thy  side, 

Peace,  peace,  I  cannot  go  ! 
Hath  the  world  aught  for  me  to  fear 

When  death  is  on  thy  brow  ? 
The  world  !  what  means  it  ?     Mine  is  here  ! 

I  will  not  leave  thee  now. 

"  I  have  been  with  thee  in  thine  hour 

Of  glory  and  of  bliss  ; 
Doubt  not  its  memory's  living  power 

To  strengthen  me  through  this. 
And  thou,  mine  honored  love  and  true, 

Bear  on,  bear  nobly  on  ; 
We  have  the  blessed  heaven  in  view, 

Whose  rest  shall  soon  be  won." 

When  day  began  to  break,  the  guard  returned, 
and  Gertrude  took  down  her  stage  of  wood  and  con- 
tinued kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  pole.  Crowds  of 
people  came  to  look,  among  them  the  wife  of  one  of 
the  officials,  whom  Gertrude  implored  to  intercede 
that  her  husband's  sufferings  might  be  ended  ;  but 
though  this  might  not  be,  some  pitied  her,  and  tried 
to  give  her  wine  and  confections,  which  she  could 
not  touch.  The  priest  came  and  exhorted  Rudolf 
to  confess  the  crime,  but  with  a  great  effort  he  re- 
peated his  former  statement  of  innocence. 

A  band  of  horsemen  rode  by.  Among  them  was 
the  young  Prince  Leopold  and  his  sister  Agnes 
herself,  clad  as  a  knight.  They  were  very  angry  at 
the  compassion  shown  by  the  crowd,  and  after 
frightfully  harsh  language  commanded  that  Gertrude 
should  be  dragged  away  ;  but  one  of  the  nobles 
interceded  for  her,  and  when  she  had  been  carried 
away  to  a  little  distance  her  entreaties  were  heard, 
and  she  was  allowed  to  break  away  and  come  back 


Faithful  till  Death.  153 

to  her  husband.  The  priest  blessed  Gertrude,  gave 
her  his  hand,  and  said,  "  Be  faithful  unto  death,  and 
God  will  give  you  the  crown  of  life,"  and  she  was 
no  further  molested. 

Night  came  on,  and  with  it  a  stormy  wind,  whose 
howling  mingled  with  the  voice  of  her  prayers,  and 
whistled  in  the  hair  of  the  sufferer.  One  of  the 
guard  brought  her  a  cloak.  She  climbed  on  the 
wheel,  and  spread  the  covering  over  her  husband's 
limbs  ;  then  fetched  some  water  in  her  shoe,  and 
moistened  his  lips  with  it,  sustaining  him  above  all 
with  her  prayers,  and  exhortations  to  look  to  the 
joys  beyond.  He  had  ceased  to  try  to  send  her 
away,  and  thanked  her  for  the  comfort  she  gave 
him.  And  still  she  watched  when  morning  came 
again,  and  noon  passed  over  her,  and  it  was  verging 
to  evening,  when  for  the  last  time  he  moved  his 
head  ;  and  she  raised  herself  so  as  to  be  close  to 
him.  With  a  smile,  he  murmured,  "  Gertrude,  this 
is  faithfulness  till  death,"  and  died.  She  knelt 
down  to  thank  God  for  having  enabled  her  to  re- 
main for  that  last  breath  :  — 

-  "  While  even  as  o'er  a  martyr's  grave 
She  knelt  on  that  sad  spot, 
And,  weeping,  blessed  the  God  who  gave 
Strength  to  forsake  it  not !  " 

She  found  shelter  in  a  convent  at  Basle,  where 
she  spent  the  rest  of  her  life  in  a  quiet  round  of 
prayer  and  good  works  ;  till  the  time  came  when 
her  widowed  heart  should  find  its  true  rest  forever. 


(t^ 


WHAT    IS    BETTER   THAN    SLAYING   A 
DRAGOX. 


1332. 

THE  next  story  we  have  to  tell  is  so  strange  and 
wild,  that  it  would  seem  better  to  befit  the 
cloudy  times  when  history  had  not  yet  been  disen- 
tangled from  fable,  than  the  comparatively  clear 
light  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

It  took  place  in  the  island  of  Rhodes.  This 
Greek  isle  had  become  the  home  of  the  Knights  of 
St.  John,  or  Hospitaliers.  an  order  of  sworn  brethren 
who  had  arisen  at  the  time  of  the  Crusades.  At 
first  they  had  been  merely  monks,  who  kept  open 
house  for  the  reception  of  the  poor  penniless  pil- 
grims who  arrived  at  Jerusalem  in  need  of  shelter, 
and  often  of  nursing  and  healing.  The  good  monks 
not  only  fed  and  housed  them,  but  did  their  best  to 
cure  the  many  diseases  that  they  would  catch  in  the 
toilsome  journey  in  that  feverish  climate  ;  and  thus 
it  has  come  to  pass  that  the  word  hospitium,  which 
in  Latin  only  means  an  inn.  has,  in  modern  lan- 
guages, given  birth,  on  the  one  hand,  to  hotel,  or 
lodging-house,  on  the  other,  to  hospital,  or  house  of 
healing.  The  Hospital  at  Jerusalem  was  called  af- 
ter St.  John  the  Almoner,  a  charitable  Bishop  of 
old,  and  the  brethren  were  Hospitaliers.  By  and  by, 
when  the  first  Crusade  was  over,  and  there  was  a 
great  need  of  warriors  to  maintain  the  Christian 
cause    in    Jerusalem,    the    Hospitaliers    thought   it 


What  is  Better  than  Slaying  a  Dragon.    155 

a  pity  that  so  many  strong  arms  should  be  pre- 
vented from  exerting  themselves,  by  the  laws 
that  forbade  the  clergy  to  do  battle,  and  they 
obtained  permission  from  the  Pope  to  become 
warriors  as  well  as  monks.  They  were  thus  all 
in  one,  —  knights,  priests,  and  nurses  ;  their  mon- 
asteries were  both  castles  and  hospitals  ;  and  the 
sick  pilgrim  or  wounded  Crusader  was  sure  of 
all  the  best  tendance  and  medical  care  that  the 
times  could  afford,  as  well  as  of  all  the  ghostly  com- 
fort and  counsel  that  he  might  need,  and,  if  he 
recovered,  he  was  escorted  safely  down  to  the  sea- 
shore by  a  party  strong  enough  to  protect  him  from 
the  hordes  of  robber  Arabs.  All  this  was  for  char- 
ity's sake,  and  without  reward.  Surely  the  consti- 
tution of  the  Order  was  as  golden  as  its  badge, — 
the  eight-pointed  cross,  —  which  the  brethren  wore 
round  their  neck.  They  wore  it  also  in  white  over 
their  shoulder  upon  a  black  mantle.  And  the 
knights  who  had  been  admitted  to  the  full  honors 
of  the  Order  had  a  scarlet  surcoat,  likewise  with  the 
white  cross,  over  their  armor.  The  whole  brother- 
hood was  under  the  command  of  a  Grand  Master, 
who  was  elected  in  a  chapter  of  all  the  knights,  and 
to  whom  all  vowed  to  render  implicit  obedience. 

Good  service  in  all  their  three  capacities  had  been 
done  by  the  Order  as  long  as  the  Crusaders  were 
able  to  keep  a  footing  in  the  Holy  Land  ;  but  they 
were  driven  back  step  by  step,  and  at  last,  in  1291, 
their  last  stronghold  at  Acre  was  taken,  after  much 
desperate  fighting,  and  the  remnant  of  the  Hospi- 
taliers  sailed  away  to  the  isle  of  Cyprus,  where, 
after  a  few  years,  they  recruited  their  forces,  and,  in 
1307,  captured  the  island  of  Rhodes,  which  had  been 
a  nest  of  Greek  and  Mahometan  pirates.  Here  they 
remained,  hoping  for  a  fresh  Crusade  to  recover  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  and  in  the  mean  time  fulfilling  their 
old  mission  as  the  protectors   and  nurses   of  the 


156  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

weak.  All  the  Mediterranean  Sea  was  infested  by 
corsairs  from  the  African  coast  and  the  Greek  isles, 
and  these  brave  knights,  becoming  sailors  as  well  as 
all  they  had  been  before,  placed  their  red  flag  with 
its  white  cross  at  the  mast-head  of  many  a  gallant 
vessel  that  guarded  the  peaceful  traveller,  hunted 
down  the  cruel  pirate,  and  brought  home  his  Chris- 
tian slave,  rescued  from  laboring  at  the  oar,  to  the 
Hospital  for  rest  and  tendance.  Or  their  treasures 
were  used  in  redeeming  the  captives  in  the  pirate 
cities.  No  knight  of  St.  John  might  offer  any  ran- 
som for  himself  save  his  sword  and  scarf;  but  for 
the  redemption  of  their  poor  fellow-Christians  their 
wealth  was  ready,  and  many  a  captive  was  released 
from  toiling  in  Algiers  or  Tripoli,  or  still  worse, 
from  rowing  the  pirate  vessels,  chained  to  the  oar, 
between  the  decks,  and  was  restored  to  health  and 
returned  to  his  friends,  blessing  the  day  he  had  been 
brought  into  the  curving  harbor  of  Rhodes,  with  the 
fine  fortified  town  of  churches  and  monasteries. 

Some  eighteen  years  after  the  conquest  of  Rhodes, 
the  whole  island  was  filled  with  dismay  by  the  rav- 
ages of  an  enormous  creature,  living  in  a  morass  at 
the  foot  of  Mount  St.  Stephen,  about  two  miles  from 
the  city  of  Rhodes.  Tradition  calls  it  a  dragon, 
and  whether  it  were  a  crocodile  or  a  serpent  is  un- 
certain. There  is  reason  to  think  that  the  monsters 
of  early  creation  were  slow  in  becoming  extinct,  or 
it  is  not  impossible  that  either  a  crocodile  or  a  py- 
thon might  have  been  brought  over  by  storms  or 
currents  from  Africa,  and  have  grown  to  a  more 
formidable  size  than  usual  in  solitude  among  the 
marshes,  while  the  island  was  changing  owners. 
The  reptile,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  the  object  of 
extreme  dread  ;  it  devoured  sheep  and  cattle,  when 
they  came  down  to  the  water,  and  even  young  shep- 
herd-boys were  missing.  And  the  pilgrimage  to  the 
Chapel  of  St.  Stephen,  on  the  hill  above  its  lair,  was 


What  is  Better  than  Slaying  a  Dragon.    157 

especially  a  service  of  danger,  for  pilgrims  were  be- 
lieved to  be  snapped  up  by  the  dragon  before  they 
could  mount  the  hill. 

Several  knights  had  gone  out  to  attempt  the  de- 
struction of  the  creature,  but  not  one  had  returned, 
and  at  last  the  Grand  Master,  Helion  de  Villeneuve, 
forbade  any  further  attacks  to  be  made.  The  dragon 
is  said  to  have  been  covered  with  scales  that  were 
perfectly  impenetrable  either  to  arrows  or  any  cut- 
ting weapon  ;  and  the  severe  loss  that  encounters 
with  him  had  cost  the  Order,  convinced  the  Grand 
Master  that  he  must  be  let  alone. 

However,  a  young  knight,  named  Dieudonne  de 
Gozon,  was  by  no  means  willing  to  acquiesce  in  the 
decree  ;  perhaps  all  the  less  because  it  came  after 
he  had  once  gone  out  in  quest  of  the  monster,  but 
had  returned,  by  his  own  confession,  without  strik- 
ing a  blow.  He  requested  leave  of  absence,  and 
went  home  for  a  time  to  his  father's  castle  of  Gozon, 
in  Languedoc  ;  and  there  he  caused  a  model  of  the 
monster  to  be  made.  He  had  observed  that  the 
scales  did  not  protect  the  animal's  belly,  though  it 
was  almost  impossible  to  get  a  blow  at  it,  owing  to 
its  tremendous  teeth,  and  the  furious  strokes  of  its 
length  of  tail.  He  therefore  caused  this  part  of  his 
model  to  be  made  hollow,  and  filled  with  food,  and 
obtaining  two  fierce  young  mastiffs,  he  trained  them 
to  fly  at  the  under  side  of  the  monster,  while  he 
mounted  his  war-horse,  and  endeavored  to  acccus- 
tom  it  likewise  to  attack  the  strange  shape  without 
swerving. 

When  he  thought  the  education  of  horse  and 
dogs  complete,  he  returned  to  Rhodes  ;  but  fearing 
to  be  prevented  from  carrying  out  his  design,  he  did 
not  land  at  the  city,  but  on  a  remote  part  of  the 
coast,  whence  he  made  his  way  to  the  Chapel  of  St. 
Stephen.  There,  after  having  recommended  him- 
self to  God,  he  left  his  two  French  squires,  desiring 


158  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

them  to  return  home  if  he  were  slain,  but  to  watch 
and  come  to  him  if  he  killed  the  dragon,  or  were 
only  hurt  by  it.  He  then  rode  down  the  hillside, 
and  towards  the  haunt  of  the  dragon.  It  roused  it- 
self at  his  advance,  and  at  first  he  charged  it  with 
his  lance,  which  was  perfectly  useless  against  the 
scales.  His  horse  was  quick  to  perceive  the  differ- 
ence between  the  true  and  the  false  monster,  and 
started  back,  so  that  he  was  forced  to  leap  to  the 
ground  ;  but  the  two  dogs  were  more  stanch,  and 
sprang  at  the  animal,  whilst  their  master  struck  at 
it  with  his  sword,  but  still  without  reaching  a  vulner- 
able part,  and  a  blow  from  the  tail  had  thrown  him 
down,  and  the  dragon  was  turning  upon  him,  when 
the  movement  left  the  undefended  belly  exposed. 
Both  mastiffs  fastened  on  it  at  once,  and  the  knight, 
regaining  his  feet,  thrust  his  sword  into  it.  There 
was  a  death-grapple,  and  finally  the  servants,  com- 
ing down  the  hill,  found  their  knight  lying  apparent- 
ly dead  under  the  carcass  of  the  dragon.  When 
they  had  extricated  him,  taken  off  his  helmet,  and 
sprinkled  him  with  water,  he  recovered,  and  pres- 
ently was  led  into  the  city  amid  the  ecstatic  shouts 
of  the  whole  populace,  who  conducted  him  in  tri- 
umph to  the  palace  of  the  Grand  Master. 

We  have  seen  how  Titus  Manlius  was  requited 
by  his  father  for  his  breach  of  discipline.  It  was 
somewhat  in  the  same  manner  that  Helion  de  Ville- 
neuve  received  Dieudonne.  We  borrow  Schiller's 
beautiful  version  of  the  conversation  that  took  place, 
as  the  voung  knight,  pale,  with  his  black  mantle 
rent,  his  shining  armor  dinted,  his  scarlet  surcoat 
stained  with  blood,  came  into  the  Knights'  Great 
Hall. 

"  Severe  and  grave  was  the  Master's  brow, 
Quoth  he,  '  A  hero  bold  art  thou, 
By  valor  't  is  that  knights  are  known  ; 
A  valiant  spirit  hast  thou  shown  ; 


What  is  Better  tha?i  Slaying  a  Dragon.    159 

But  the  first  duty  of  a  knight, 
Now  tell,  who  vows  for  Christ  to  fight 
And  bears  the  Cross  on  his  coat  of  mail' 
The  listeners  all  with  fear  grew  pale, 
While,  bending  lowly,  spake  the  knight, 

His  cheeks  with  blushes  burning, 
'  He  who  the  Cross  would  bear  aright, 
Obedience  must  be  learning.'  " 

Even  after  hearing  the  account  of  the  conflict,  the 
Grand  Master  did  not  abate  his  displeasure. 

" '  My  son,  the  spoiler  of  the  land 
Lies  slain  by  thy  victorious  hand,  — 
Thou  art  the  people's  god,  but  so 
Thou  art  become  thine  Order's  foe  ; 
A  deadlier  foe  thine  heart  has  bred 
Than  this  which  by  thy  hand  is  dead, 
That  serpent  still  the  heart  defiling, 
To  ruin  and  to  strife  beguiling ; 
It  is  that  spirit  rash  and  bold, 

That  scorns  the  bands  of  order  ; 
Rages  against  them  uncontrolled 

Till  earth  is  in  disorder. 

"  '  Courage  by  Saracens  is  shown, 
Submission  is  the  Christian's  own  ; 
And  where  our  Saviour,  high  and  holy, 
Wandered  a  pilgrim,  poor  and  lowly, 
Upon  that  ground  with  mystery  fraught, 
The  fathers  of  our  Order  taught 
The  duty  hardest  to  fulfil 
Is  to  give  up  our  own  self-will,  — 
Thou  art  elate  with  glory  vain. 

Away  then  from  my  sight  ! 
Who  can  his  Saviour's  voke  disdain, 

Bears  not  his  Cross  aright.' 

"  An  angry  cry  burst  from  the  crowd, 
The  hall  rang  with  their  tumult  loud  ; 
Each  knightly  brother  prayed  for  grace. 
The  victor  downward  bent  his  face, 


160  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Aside  his  cloak  in  silence  laid, 

Kissed  the  Grand  Master's  hand,  nor  stayed. 

The  Master  watched  him  from  the  hall, 

Then  summoned  him  with  loving  call, 

'  Come  to  embrace  me,  noble  son, 

Thine  is  the  conquest  of  the  soul  ; 
Take  up  the  Cross,  now  truly  won, 

By  meekness  and  by  self-control.'  " 

The  probation  of  Dieudonne  is  said  to  have  been 
somewhat  longer  than  the  poem  represents,  but  after 
the  claims  of  discipline  had  been  established,  he 
became  a  great  favorite  with  stern  old  Villeneuve, 
and  the  dragon's  head  was  set  up  over  the  gate  of 
the  city,  where  Thevenot  professed  to  have  seen  it 
in  the  'seventeenth  century,  and  said  that  it  was 
larger  than  that  of  a  horse,  with  a  huge  mouth  and 
teeth  and  very  large  eyes.  The  name  of  Rhodes  is 
said  to  come  from  a  Phoenician  wrord  meaning  a 
serpent,  and  the  Greeks  called  this  the  Isle  of  Ser- 
pents, which  is  all  in  favor  of  the  truth  of  the  story. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  such  traditions  often  are 
prompted  by  the  sight  of  the  fossil  skeletons  of  the 
dragons  of  the  elder  world,  and  are  generally  to  be 
met  with  where  such  minerals  prevail  as  are  found 
in  the  northern  part  of  Rhodes.  The  tale  is  disbe- 
lieved by  many,  but  it  is  hard  to  suppose  it  an  entire 
invention,  though  the  description  of  the  monster 
may  have  been  exaggerated. 

Dieudonne  de  Gozon  was  elected  to  the  Grand 
Mastership  after  the  death  of  Villeneuve,  and  is 
said  to  have  voted  for  himself.  If  so,  it  seems  as 
if  he  might  have  had.  in  his  earlier  days,  an  over- 
weening opinion  of  his  own  abilities.  However,  he 
was  an  excellent  Grand  Master,  a  great  soldier,  and 
much  beloved  by  all  the  poor  peasants  of  the  island, 
to  whom  he  was  exceedingly  kind.  He  died  in 
1353.  and  his  tomb  is  said  to  have  been  only  in- 
scribed with  these  words  :  "  Here  lies  the  Dragon 
Slayer." 


THE    KEYS    OF    CALAIS. 

I347- 

NOWHERE  does  the  continent  of  Europe  ap- 
proach Great  Britain  so  closely  as  at  the  Straits 
of  Dover,  and  when  our  sovereigns  were  full  of  the 
vain  hope  of  obtaining  the  crown  of  France,  or  at 
least  of  regaining  the  great  possessions  that  their 
forefathers  had  owned  as  French  nobles,  there  was 
no  spot  so  coveted  by  them  as  the  fortress  of  Calais, 
the  possession  of  which  gave  an  entrance  into 
France. 

Thus  it  was  that  when,  in  134.6,  Edward  III.  had 
beaten  Philippe  VI.  at  the  battle  of  Crecy,  the  first 
use  he  made  of  his  victory  was  to  march  upon 
Calais,  and  lay  siege  to  it.  The  walls  were  exceed- 
ingly strong  and  solid,  mighty  defences  of  masonry, 
of  huge  thickness  and  like  rocks  for  solidity,  guarded 
it,  and  the  king  knew  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
attempt  a  direct  assault.  Indeed,  during  all  the 
middle  ages,  the  modes  of  protecting  fortifications 
were  far  more  efficient  than  the  modes  of  attacking 
them.  The  walls  could  be  made  enormously  mas- 
sive, the  towers  raised  to  a  great  height,  and  the 
defenders  so  completely  sheltered  by  battlements 
that  they  could  not  easily  be  injured,  and  could  take 
aim  from  the  top  of  their  turrets,  or  from  their  loop- 
hole windows.  The  gates  had  absolute  little  castles 
1 1 


1 62  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

of  their  own,  a  moat  flowed  round  the  walls  full  of 
water,  and  only  capable  of  being  crossed  by  a  draw- 
bridge, behind  which  the  portcullis,  a  grating  armed 
beneath  with  spikes,  was  always  ready  to  drop  from 
the  archway  of  the  gate  and  close  up  the  entrance. 
The  only  chance  of  taking  a  fortress  by  direct  attack 
was  to  fill  up  the  moat  with  earth  and  faggots,  and 
then  raise  ladders  against  the  walls  ;  or  else  to  drive 
engines  against  the  defences,  battering-rams  which 
struck  them  with  heavy  beams,  mangonels  which 
launched  stones,  sows  whose  arched  wooden  backs 
protected  troops  of  workmen  who  tried  to  under- 
mine the  wall,  and  moving  towers  consisting  of  a 
succession  of  stages  or  shelves,  filled  with  soldiers, 
and  with  a  bridge  with  iron  hooks,  capable  of  being 
launched  from  the  highest  story  to  the  top  of  the 
battlements.  The  besieged  could  generally  discon- 
cert the  battering-ram  by  hanging  beds  or  mattresses 
over  the  walls  to  receive  the  brunt  of  the  blow,  the 
sows  could  be  crushed  with  heavy  stones,  the  towers 
burnt  by  well-directed  flaming  missiles,  the  ladders 
overthrown,  and  in  general  the  besiegers  suffered  a 
great  deal  more  damage  than  they  could  inflict.  Can- 
non had  indeed  just  been  brought  into  use  at  the 
battle  of  Crecy,  but  they  only  consisted  of  iron  bars 
fastened  together  with  hoops,  and  were  as  yet  of  little 
use,  and  thus  there  seemed  to  be  little  danger  to  a 
well  guarded  city  from  any  enemy  outside  the  walls. 
King  Edward  arrived  before  the  place  with  all 
his  victorious  army  early  in  August,  his  good  knights 
and  squires  arrayed  in  glittering  steel-armor,  cov- 
ered with  surcoats  richly  embroidered  with  their 
heraldic  bearings  ;  his  stout  men-at-arms,  each  of 
whom  was  attended  by  three  bold  followers  ;  and 
his  archers,  with  their  cross-bows  to  shoot  bolts,  and 
long-bows  to  shoot  arrows  of  a  yard  long,  so  that  it 
used  to  be  said  that  each  went  into  battle  with 
three  men's  lives  under  his  girdle,  namely  the  three 


The  Keys  of  Calais.  163 

arrows  he  kept  there  ready  to  his  hand.  With  the 
king  was  his  son,  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales,  who 
had  just  won  the  golden  spurs  of  knighthood  so 
gallantly  at  Crecy,  when  only  in  his  seventeeth  year, 
and  likewise  the  famous  Hainault  knight,  Sir  Walter 
Mauny,  and  all  that  was  noblest  and  bravest  in  Eng- 
land. 

This  whole  glittering  army,  at  their  head  the 
king's  great  royal  standard  bearing  the  golden  lilies 
of  France  quartered  with  the  lions  of  England, 
and  each  troop  guided  by  the  square  banner,  swal- 
low-tailed pennon  or  pointed  pennoncel  of  their 
leader,  came  marching  to  the  gates  of  Calais,  above 
which  floated  the  blue  standard  of  France  with  its 
golden  flowers,  and  with  it  the  banner  of  the  gov- 
ernor, Sir  Jean  de  Vienne.  A  herald,  in  a  rich,  long 
robe,  embroidered  with  the  arms  of  England,  rode 
up  to  the  gate,  a  trumpet  sounding  before  him,  and 
called  upon  Sir  Jean  de  Vienne  to  give  up  the  place 
to  Edward,  King  of  England,  and  of  France,  as  he 
claimed  to  be.  Sir  Jean  made  answer  that  he  held 
the  town  for  Philippe,  King  of  France,  and  that  he 
would  defend  it  to  the  last  ;  the  herald  rode  back 
again  and  the  English  began  the  siege  of  the  city. 

At  first  they  only  encamped,  and  the  people  of 
Calais  must  have  seen  the  whole  plain  covered  with 
the  white  canvas  tents,  marshalled  round  the  ensigns 
of  the  leaders,  and  here  and  there  a  more  gorgeous 
one  displaying  the  colors  of  the  owner.  Still  there 
was  no  attack  upon  the  walls.  The  warriors  were  to 
be  seen  walking  about  in  the  leathern  suits  they  wore 
under  their  armor  ;  or  if  a  party  was  to  be  seen  with 
their  coats  of  mail  on,  helmet  on  head,  and  lance 
in  hand,  it  was  not  against  Calais  that  they  came  ; 
they  rode  out  into  the  country,  and  by  and  by  might 
be  seen  driving  back  before  them  herds  of  cattle  and 
flocks  of  sheep  or  pigs  that  they  had  seized  and  taken 
away  from  the  poor  peasants  ;  and  at  night  the  sky 


164  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

would  show  red  lights  where  farms  and  homesteads 
had  been  set  on  fire.  After  a  time,  in  front  of  the 
tents,  the  English  were  to  be  seen  hard  at  work  with 
beams  and  boards  setting  up  huts  for  themselves, 
and  thatching  them  over  with  straw  or  broom. 
These  wooden  houses  were  all  ranged  in  regular 
streets,  and  there  was  a  market-place  in  the  midst, 
whither  every  Saturday  came  farmers  and  butchers 
to  sell  corn  and  meat,  and  hay  for  the  horses  ;  and 
the  English  merchants  and  Flemish  weavers  would 
come  by  sea  and  by  land  to  bring  cloth,  bread,  weap- 
ons, and  everything  that  could  be  needed  to  be  sold 
in  this  warlike  market. 

The  Governor,  Sir  Jean  de  Vienne,  began  to  per- 
ceive that  the  king  did  not  mean  to  waste  his  men 
by  making  vain  attacks  on  the  strong  walls  of 
Calais,  but  to  shut  up  the  entrance  by  land,  and 
watch  the  coast  by  sea  so  as  to  prevent  any  pro- 
visions from  being  taken  in,  and  so  to  starve  him 
into  surrendering.  Sir  Jean  de  Vienne,  however, 
hoped  that  before  he  should  be  entirely  reduced  by 
famine,  the  king  of  France  would  be  able  to  get  to- 
gether another  army  and  come  to  his  relief,  and  at 
any  rate  he  was  determined  to  do  his  duty,  and  hold 
out  for  his  master  to  the  last.  But  as  food  was  al- 
ready beginning  to  grow  scarce,  he  was  obliged  to 
turn  out  such  persons  as  could  not  fight  and  had  no 
stores  of  their  own,  and  so  one  Wednesday  morning 
he  caused  all  the  poor  to  be  brought  together,  men, 
women,  and  children,  and  sent  them  all  out  of  the 
town,  to  the  number  of  1700.  It  was  probably  the 
truest  mercy,  for  he  had  no  food  to  give  them,  and 
they  could  only  have  starved  miserably  within  the 
town,  or  have  hindered  him  from  saving  it  for  his 
sovereign  ;  but  to  them  it  was  dreadful  to  be  driven 
out  of  house  and  home,  straight  down  upon  the  en- 
emy, and  they  went  along  weeping  and  wailing,  till 
the  English  soldiers  met  them  and  asked  why  they 


The  Keys  of  Calais.  165 

had  come  out.  They  answered  that  they  had  been 
put  out  because  they  had  nothing  to  eat,  and  their 
sorrowful,  famished  looks  gained  pity  for  them. 
King  Edward  sent  orders  that  not  only  should  they 
go  safely  through  his  camp,  but  that  they  should  all 
rest,  and  have  the  first  hearty  dinner  that  they  had 
eaten  for  many  a  day,  and  he  sent  every  one  a  small 
sum  of  money  before  they  left  the  camp,  so  that 
many  of  them  went  on  their  way  praying  aloud  for 
the  enemy  who  had  been  so  kind  to  them. 

A  great  deal  happened  whilst  King  Edward  kept 
watch  in  his  wooden  town  and  the  citizens  of  Calais 
guarded  their  walls.  England  was  invaded  by  King 
David  II.  of  Scotland,  with  a  great  army,  and  the 
good  Queen  Philippa,  who  was  left  to  govern  at 
home  in  the  name  of  her  little  son  Lionel,  assem- 
bled all  the  forces  that  were  left  at  home,  and  sent 
them  to  meet  him.  And  one  autumn  day,  a  ship 
crossed  the  Straits  of  Dover,  and  a  messenger 
brought  King  Edward  letters  from  his  queen  to 
say  that  the  Scots  army  had  been  entirely  defeated 
at  Nevil's  Cross,  near  Durham,  and  that  their  king 
was  a  prisoner,  but  that  he  had  been  taken  by  a 
squire  named  John  Copeland,  who  would  not  give 
him  up  to  her. 

King  Edward  sent  letters  to  John  Copeland  to 
come  to  him  at  Calais,  and  when  the  squire  had 
made  his  journey,  the  king  took  him  by  the  hand  say- 
ing, "  Ha  !  welcome,  my  squire,  who  by  his  valor  has 
captured  our  adversary  the  king  of  Scotland." 

Copeland,  falling  on  one  knee,  replied,  "  If  God, 
out  of  his  great  kindness,  has  given  me  the  king  of 
Scotland,  no  one  ought  to  be  jealous  of  it,  for  God 
can,  when  He  pleases,  send  His  grace  to  a  poor 
squire  as  well  as  to  a  great  lord.  Sir,  do  not  take  it 
amiss  if  I  did  not  surrender  him  to  the  orders  of 
my  lady  the  queen,  for  I  hold  my  lands  of  you,  -and 
my  oath  is  to  you,  not  to  her." 


1 66  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

The  king  was  not  displeased  with  his  squire's 
sturdiness,  but  made  him  a  knight,  gave  him  a  pen- 
sion of  ,£500  a  year,  and  desired  him  to  surrender 
his  prisoner  to  the  queen,  as  his  own  representa- 
tive. This  was  accordingly  done,  and  King  David 
was  lodged  in  the  Tower  of  London.  Soon  after, 
three  days  before  All  Saints'  Day,  there  was  a  large 
and  gay  fleet  to  be  seen  crossing  from  the  white 
cliffs  of  Dover,  and  the  king,  his  son,  and  his 
knights,  rode  down  to  the  landing-place  to  welcome 
plump,  fair-haired  Queen  Philippa,  and  all  her  train 
of  ladies,  who  had  come  in  great  numbers  to  visit 
their  husbands,  fathers,  or  brothers  in  the  wooden 
town.  Then  there  was  a  great  court,  and  numerous 
feasts  and  dances,  and  the  knights  and  squires  were 
constantly  striving  who  could  do  the  bravest  deed 
of  prowess  to  please  the  ladies.  The  king  of 
France  had  placed  numerous  knights  and  men-at- 
arms  in  the  neighboring  towns  and  castles,  and 
there  were  constant  fights  whenever  the  English 
went  out  foraging,  and  many  bold  deeds  that  were 
much  admired  were  done.  The  great  point  was  to 
keep  provisions  out  of  the  town,  and  there  was 
much  fighting  between  the  French  who  tried  to 
bring  in  supplies,  and  the  English  who  intercepted 
them.  Very  little  was  brought  in  by  land,  and  Sir 
Jean  de  Vienne  and  his  garrison  would  have  been 
quite  starved  but  for  two  sailors  of  Abbeville,  named 
Marant  and  Mestriel,  who  knew  the  coast  thor- 
oughly, and  often,  in  the  dark  autumn  evenings, 
would  guide  in  a  whole  fleet  of  little  boats,  loaded 
with  bread  and  meat  for  the  starving  men  within 
the  city.  They  were  often  chased  by  King  Ed- 
ward's vessels,  and  were  sometimes  very  nearly 
taken,  but  they  always  managed  to  escape,  and 
thus  they  still  enabled  the  garrison  to  hold  out. 

So  all  the  winter  passed.  Christmas  was  kept 
with  brilliant  feastings  and  high  merriment  by  the 


The  Keys  of  Calais.  167 

king  and  his  queen  in  their  wooden  palace  outside, 
and  with  lean  cheeks  and  scanty  fare  by  the  be- 
sieged within.  Lent  was  strictly  observed  perforce 
by  the  besieged,  and  Easter  brought  a  bethrothal  in 
the  English  camp ;  a  very  unwilling  one  on  the 
part  of  the  bridegroom,  the  young  Count  of  Flan- 
ders, who  loved  the  French  much  better  than  the 
English,  and  had  only  been  tormented  into  giving 
his  consent  by  his  unruly  vassals  because  they  de- 
pended on  the  wool  of  English  sheep  for  their  cloth 
works.  So,  though  King  Edward's  daughter  Isabel 
was  a  beautiful  fair-haired  girl  of  fifteen,  the  young 
Count  would  scarcely  look  at  her ;  and  in  the  last 
week  before  the  marriage-day,  while  her  robes  and 
her  jewels  were  being  prepared,  and  her  father  and 
mother  were  arranging  the  presents  they  should 
make  to  all  their  court  on  the  wedding-day,  the 
bridegroom,  when  out  hawking,  gave  his  attendants 
the  slip,  and  galloped  off  to  Paris,  where  he  was 
welcomed  by  King  Philippe. 

This  made  Edward  very  wrathful,  and  more  than 
ever  determined  to  take  Calais.  About  Whitsun- 
tide he  completed  a  great  wooden  castle  upon  the 
sea-shore,  and  placed  in  it  numerous  warlike  en- 
gines, with  40  men-at-arms  and  200  archers,  who 
kept  such  a  watch  upon  the  harbor  that  not  even 
the  two  Abbeville  sailors  could  enter  it,  without 
having  their  boats  crushed  and  sunk  by  the  great 
stones  that  the  mangonels  launched  upon  them. 
The  townspeople  began  to  feel  what  hunger  really 
was,  but  their  spirits  were  kept  up  by  the  hope 
that  their  king  was  at  last  collecting  an  army  for 
their  rescue. 

And  Philippe  did  collect  all  his  forces,  a  great 
and  noble  army,  and  came  one  night  to  the  hill  of 
Sangate,  just  behind  the  English  army,  the  knights' 
armor  glancing  and  their  pennons  flying  in  the 
moonlight,  so  as  to  be  a  beautiful  sight  to  the  hun- 


1 68  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

gry  garrison  who  could  see  the  white  tents  pitched 
upon  the  hillside.  Still  there  were  but  two  roads 
by  which  the  French  could  reach  their  friends  in 
the  town,  —  one  along  the  sea-coast,  the  other 
by  a  marshy  road  higher  up  the  country,  and  there 
was  but  one  bridge  by  which  the  river  could  be 
crossed.  The  English  king's  fleet  could  prevent 
any  troops  from  passing  along  the  coast  road,  the 
Earl  of  Derby  guarded  the  bridge,  and  there  was  a 
great  tower,  strongly  fortified,  close  upon  Calais. 
There  were  a  few  skirmishes,  but  the  French  king, 
finding  it  difficult  to  force  his  way  to  relieve  the 
town,  sent  a  party  of  knights  with  a  challenge  to 
King  Edward  to  come  out  of  his  camp  and  do  battle 
upon  a  fair  field. 

To  this  Edward  made  answer,  that  he  had  been 
nearly  a  year  before  Calais,  and  had  spent  large 
sums  of  money  on  the  siege,  and  that  he  had  nearly 
become  master  of  the  place,  so  that  he  had  no  in- 
tention of  coming  out  only  to  gratify  his  adversary, 
who  must  try  some  other  road  if  he  could  not  make 
his  way  in  by  that  before  him. 

Three  days  were  spent  in  parleys,  and  then,  with- 
out the  slightest  effort  to  rescue  the  brave,  patient 
men  within  the  town,  away  went  King  Philippe  of 
France,  with  all  his  men,  and  the  garrison  saw  the 
host  that  had  crowded  the  hill  of  Sangate  melt  away 
like  a  summer  cloud. 

August  had  come  again,  and  they  had  suffered 
privation  for  a  whole  year  for  the  sake  of  the  king 
who  deserted  them  at  their  utmost  need.  They 
were  in  so  grievous  a  state  of  hunger  and  distress 
that  the  hardiest  could  endure  no  more,  for  ever  since 
Whitsuntide  no  fresh  provisions  had  reached  them. 
The  governor,  therefore,  went  to  the  battlements  and 
made  signs  that  he  wished  to  hold  a  parley,  and  the 
king  appointed  Lord  Basset  and  Sir  Walter  Mauny 
to  meet  him,  and  appoint  the  terms  of  surrender. 


The  Keys  of  Calais.  169 

The  governor  owned  that  the  garrison  was  re- 
duced to  the  greatest  extremity  of  distress,  and 
requested  that  the  king  would  be  contented  with 
obtaining  the  city  and  fortress,  leaving  the  soldiers 
and  inhabitants  to  depart  in  peace. 

But  Sir  Walter  Mauny  was  forced  to  make  an- 
swer that  the  king,  his  lord,  was  so  much  enraged 
at  the  delay  and  expense  that  Calais  had  cost  him, 
that  he  would  only  consent  to  receive  the  whole  on 
unconditional  terms,  leaving  him  free  to  slay,  or  to 
ransom,  or  make  prisoners  whomsoever  he  pleased, 
and  he  was  known  to  consider  that  there  was  a 
heavy  reckoning  to  pay,  both  for  the  trouble  the 
siege  had  cost  him  and  the  damage  the  Calesians 
had  previously  done  to  his  ships. 

The  brave  answer  was  :  "  These  conditions  are 
too  hard  for  us.  We  are  but  a  small  number  of 
knights  and  squires,  who  have  loyally  served  our 
lord  and  master  as  you  would  have  done,  and  have 
suffered  much  ill  and  disquiet,  but  we  will  endure 
far  more  than  any  man  has  done  in  such  a  post,  be- 
fore we  consent  that  the  smallest  boy  in  the  town 
shall  fare  worse  than  ourselves.  I  therefore  entreat 
you,  for  pity's  sake,  to  return  to  the  king  and  beg 
him  to  have  compassion,  for  I  have  such  an  opinion 
of  his  gallantry  that  I  think  he  will  alter  his  mind." 

The  king's  mind  seemed,  however,  sternly  made 
up  ;  and  all  that  Sir  Walter  Mauny  and  the  barons 
of  the  council  could  obtain  from  him  was  that  he 
would  pardon  the  garrison  and  townsmen  on  con- 
dition that  six  of  the  chief  citizens  should  present 
themselves  to  him,  coming  forth  with  bare  feet  and 
heads,  with  halters  round  their  necks,  carrying  the 
keys  of  the  town,  and  becoming  absolutely  his  own 
to  punish  for  their  obstinacy  as  he  should  think 
fit. 

On  hearing  this  reply,  Sir  Jean  de  Vienne  begged 
Sir  Walter    Mauny  to    wait    till    he    could  consult 


170  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

the  citizens,  and,  repairing  to  the  market-place,  he 
caused  a  great  bell  to  be  rung,  at  sound  of  which 
all  the  inhabitants  came  together  in  the  town-hall. 
When  he  told  them  of  these  hard  terms  he  could 
not  refrain  from  weeping  bitterly,  and  wailing  and 
lamentation  arose  all  round  him.  Should  all  starve 
together,  or  sacrifice  their  best  and  most  honored 
after  all  suffering  in  common  so  long  ? 

Then  a  voice  was  heard :  it  was  that  of  the  rich- 
est burgher  in  the  town,  Eustache  de  St.  Pierre. 
"  Messieurs,  high  and  low,"  he  said,  "  it  would  be  a 
sad  pity  to  suffer  so  many  people  to  die  through 
hunger,  if  it  could  be  prevented  ;  and  to  hinder  it 
would  be  meritorious  in  the  eyes  of  our  Saviour.  I 
have  such  faith  and  trust  in  finding  grace  before 
God,  if  I  die  to  save  my  townsmen,  that  I  name  my- 
self as  first  of  the  six." 

As  the  burgher  ceased,  his  fellow-townsmen  wept 
aloud,  and  many,  amid  tears  and  groans,  threw 
themselves  at  his  feet  in  a  transport  of  grief  and  grat- 
itude. Another  citizen,  very  rich  and  respected, 
rose  up  and  said,  "  I  will  be  second  to  my  comrade, 
Eustache."  His  name  was  Jean  Daire.  After  him 
Jacques  Wissant,  another  very  rich  man,  offered 
himself  as  companion  to  these,  who  were  both  his 
cousins  ;  and  his  brother  Pierre  would  not  be  left 
behind  :  and  two  more,  unnamed,  made  up  this  gal- 
lant band  of  men  willing  to  offer  their  lives  for  the 
rescue  of  their  fellow-townsmen. 

Sir  Jean  de  Vienne  mounted  a  little  horse  —  for 
he  had  been  wounded,  and  was  still  lame  —  and 
came  to  the  gate  with  them,  followed  by  all  the  peo- 
ple of  the  town,  weeping  and  wailing,  yet,  for  their 
own  sakes  and  their  children's,  not  daring  to  pre- 
vent the  sacrifice.  The  gates  were  opened,  the  gov- 
ernor and  the  six  passed  out,  and  the  gates  were 
again  shut  behind  them.  Sir  Jean  then  rode  up  to 
Sir  Walter  Mauny,  and  told  him  how  these  burghers 


The  Keys  of  Calais.  171 

had  voluntarily  offered  themselves,  begging  him  to 
do  all  in  his  power  to  save  them  ;  and  Sir  Walter 
promised  with  his  whole  heart  to  plead  their  cause. 
De  Vienne  then  went  back  into  the  town,  full  of 
heaviness  and  anxiety ;  and  the  six  citizens  were 
led  by  Sir  Walter  to  the  presence  of  the  king,  in 
his  full  court.  They  all  knelt  down,  and  the  fore- 
most said  :  "  Most  gallant  King,  you  see  before  you 
six  burghers  of  Calais,  who  have  all  been  capital 
merchants,  and  who  bring  you  the  keys  of  the  castle 
and  town.  We  yield  ourselves  to  your  absolute  will 
and  pleasure,  in  order  to  save  the  remainder  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Calais,  who  have  suffered  much  dis- 
tress and  misery.  Condescend,  therefore,  out  of 
your  nobleness  of  mind  to  have  pity  on  us." 

Strong  emotion  was  excited  among  all  the  barons 
and  knights  who  stood  round,  as  they  saw  the  re- 
signed countenances,  pile  and  thin  with  patiently- 
endured  hunger,  of  these  venerable  men,  offering 
themselves  in  the  cause  of  their  fellow-townsmen. 
Many  tears  of  pity  were  shed  ;  but  the  king  still 
showed  himself  implacable,  and  commanded  that 
they  should  be  led  away,  and  their  heads  stricken 
off.  Sir  Walter  Mauny  interceded  for  them  with 
all  his  might,  even  telling  the  king  that  such  an 
execution  would  tarnish  his  honor,  and  that  repri- 
sals would  be  made  on  his  own  garrisons  ;  and  all 
the  nobles  joined  in  entreating  pardon  for  the  citi- 
zens, but  still  without  effect ;  and  the  headsman  had 
been  actually  sent  for,  when  Queen  Philippa,  her 
eyes  streaming  with  tears,  threw  herself  on  her 
knees  amongst  the  captives,  and  said,  "  Ah,  gentle 
sir,  since  I  have  crossed  the  sea,  with  much  danger, 
to  see  you,  I  have  never  asked  you  one  favor  ;  now 
I  beg  as  a  boon  to  myself,  for  the  sake  of  the  Son 
of  the  Blessed  Mary,  and  for  your  love  to  me,  that 
you  will  be  merciful  to  these  men  !  " 

For  some  time  the  king  looked  at  her  in  silence  ; 


172  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

then  he  exclaimed  :  "  Dame,  dame,  would  that  you 
had  been  anywhere  than  here  !  You  have  en- 
treated in  such  a  manner  that  I  cannot  refuse  you ; 
I  therefore  give  these  men  to  you,  to  do  as  you 
please  with." 

Joyfully  did  Queen  Philippa  conduct  the  six  citi- 
zens to  her  own  apartments,  where  she  made  them 
welcome,  sent  them  new  garments,  entertained  them 
with  a  plentiful  dinner,  and  dismissed  them  each 
with  a  gift  of  six  nobles.  After  this,  Sir  Walter 
Mauny  entered  the  city,  and  took  possession  of  it ; 
retaining  Sir  Jean  de  Vienne  and  the  other  knights 
and  squires  till  they  should  ransom  themselves,  and 
sending  out  the  old  French  inhabitants  ;  for  the 
king  was  resolved  to  people  the  city  entirely  with 
English,  in  order  to  gain  a  thoroughly  strong  hold 
of  this  first  step  in  France. 

The  king  and  queen  took  up  their  abode  in  the 
city;  and  the  houses  of  Jean  Daire  were,  it  ap- 
pears, granted  to  the  queen. — perhaps,  because  she 
considered  the  man  himself  as  her  charge,  and 
wished  to  secure  them  for  him.  —  and  her  little 
daughter  Margaret  was,  shortly  after,  born  in  one 
of  his  houses.  Eustache  de  St.  Pierre  was  taken 
into  high  favor,  and  was  placed  in  charge  of  the 
new  citizens  whom  the  king  placed  in  the  city. 

Indeed,  as  this  story  is  told  by  no  chronicler  but 
Froissart.  some  have  doubted  of  it,  and  thought  the 
violent  resentment  thus  imputed  to  Edward  III.  in- 
consistent with  his  general  character  ;  but  it  is  evi- 
dent that  the  men  of  Calais  had  given  him  strong 
provocation  by  attacks  on  his  shipping.  —  piracies 
which  are  not  easily  forgiven.  —  and  that  he  consid- 
ered that  he  had  a  right  to  make  an  example  of 
them.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  he  might,  after  all, 
have  intended  to  forgive  them,  and  have  given  the 
queen  the  grace  of  obtaining  their  pardon,  so  as  to 
excuse  himself  from  the  fulfilment  of  some   over- 


The  Keys  of  Calais. 


173 


hasty  threat.  But,  however  this  may  have  been, 
nothing  can  lessen  the  glory  of  the  six  grave  and 
patient  men  who  went  forth,  by  their  own  free  will, 
to  meet  what  might  be  a  cruel  and  disgraceful 
death,  in  order  to  obtain  the  safety  of  their  fellow- 
townsmen. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    SEMPACH. 


1397- 

NOTHING  in  history  has  been  more  remarkable 
than  the  union  of  the  cantons  and  cities  of  the 
little  republic  of  Switzerland.  Of  differing  races, 
languages,  and,  latterly,  even  religions,  —  unlike  in 
habits,  tastes,  opinions,  and  costumes,  —  they  have, 
however,  been  held  together,  as  it  were,  by  pressure 
from  without,  and  one  spirit  of  patriotism  has  kept 
the  little  mountain  republic  complete  for  five  hun- 
dred years. 

Originally  the  lands  were  fiefs  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire,  the  city  municipalities  owning  the  Emperor 
for  their  lord  ;  and  the  great  family  of  Hapsburg,  in 
whom  the  Empire  became  at  length  hereditary,  was 
in  reality  Swiss,  the  county  that  gave  them  title  lying 
in  the  canton  of  Aargau.  Rodolf  of  Hapsburg  was 
elected  leader  of  the  burghers  of  Zurich,  long  before 
he  was  chosen  to  the  Empire  ;  and  he  continued  a 
Swiss  in  heart,  retaining  his  mountaineer's  open 
simplicity  and  honesty  to  the  end  of  his  life.  Priv- 
ileges were  granted  by  him  to  the  cities  and  the 
nobles,  and  the  country  was  loyal  and  prosperous  in 
his  reign. 

His  son  Albert,  the  same  who  was  slain  by  his 
nephew  Johann,  as  before  mentioned,  permitted 
those  tyrannies  of  his  bailiffs  which  goaded  the 
Swiss  to  their  celebrated  revolt,  and  commenced  the 


The  Battle  of  Sempach.  175 

long  series  of  wars  with  the  House  of  Hapsburg,  — 
or,  as  it  was  now  termed,  of  Austria,  — which  finally 
established  their  independence. 

On  the  one  side,  the  Dukes  of  Austria  and  their 
ponderous  German  chivalry,  wanted  to  reduce  the 
cantons  and  cities  to  vassalage,  not  to  the  Imperial 
Crown,  a  distant  and  scarcely  felt  obligation,  but 
to  the  Duchy  of  Austria  ;  on  the  other,  the  hardy 
mountain  peasants  and  stout  burghers  well  knew 
their  true  position,  and  were  aware  that  to  admit  the 
Austrian  usurpation  would  expose  their  young  men 
to  be  drawn  upon  for  the  Duke's  wars,  cause  their 
property  to  be  subject  to  perpetual  rapacious  exac- 
tions, and  fill  their  hills  with  castles  for  ducal  bailiffs, 
who  would  be  little  better  than  licensed  robbers. 
No  wonder,  then,  that  the  generation  of  William 
Tell  and  Arnold  Melchthal  bequeathed  a  resolute 
purpose  of  resistance  to  their  descendants. 

It  was  in  1397,  ninety  years  since  the  first  asser- 
tion of  Swiss  independence,  when  Leopold  the  Hand- 
some, Duke  of  Austria,  a  bold  but  misproud  and  vi- 
olent prince,  involved  himself  in  one  of  the  constant 
quarrels  with  the  Swiss  that  were  always  arising  on 
account  of  the  insulting  exactions  of  toll  and  tribute 
in  the  Austrian  border  cities.  A  sharp  war  broke 
out,  and  the  Swiss  city  of  Lucerne  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  destroying  the  Austrian  castle  of  Rothem- 
burg,  where  the  tolls  had  been  particularly  vexatious, 
and  of  admitting  to  their  league  the  cities  of  Sem- 
pach and  Richensee. 

Leopold  and  all  the  neighboring  nobles  united 
their  forces.  Hatred  and  contempt  of  the  Swiss,  as 
low-born  and  presumptuous,  spurred  them  on  ;  and 
twenty  messengers  reached  the  Duke  in  one  day,  with 
promises  of  support,  in  his  march  against  Sempach 
and  Lucerne.  He  had  sent  a  large  force  in  the  di- 
rection of  Zurich  with  Johann  Bonstetten,  and  ad- 
vanced himself  with  4,000  horse  and  1,400  foot  upon 


176  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Sempach.  Zurich  undertook  its  own  defence,  and 
the  Forest  Cantons  sent  their  brave  peasants  to  the 
support  of  Lucerne  and  Sempach,  but  only  to  the 
number  of  1,300,  who,  on  the  9th  of  July,  took  post 
in  the  woods  around  the  little  lake  of  Sempach. 
Meanwhile,  Leopold's  troops  rode  round  the  walls 
of  the  little  city,  insulting  the  inhabitants  ;  one  hold- 
ing up  a  halter,  which  he  said  was  for  the  chief  mag- 
istrate ;  and  another,  pointing  to  the  reckless  waste 
that  his  comrades  were  perpetrating  on  the  fields, 
shouted,  "  Send  a  breakfast  to  the  reapers."  The 
burgomaster  pointed  to  the  woods  where  his  allies 
lay  hid,  and  answered,  "  My  masters  of  Lucerne  and 
their  friends  will  bring  it." 

The  story  of  that  day  was  told  by  one  of  the 
burghers  who  fought  in  the  ranks  of  Lucerne,  a 
shoemaker,  named  Albert  Tchudi,  who  was  both  a 
brave  warrior  and  a  master-singer  ;  and  as  his  bal- 
lad was  translated  by  another  master-singer,  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  and  is  the  spirited  record  of  an  eye- 
witness, we  will  quote  from  him  some  of  his  de- 
scriptions of  the  battle  and  its  golden  deed. 

The  Duke's  wiser  friends  proposed  to  wait  till  he 
could  be  joined  by  Bonstetten  and  the  troops  who 
had  gone  towards  Zurich,  and  the  Baron  von  Hasen- 
berg  (i.  e.  hare-rock)  strongly  urged  this  prudent 
counsel  ;  but  — 

"  '  O  Hare-Castle,  thou  heart  of  hare  ! ' 
Fierce  Oxenstiern  he  cried, 
'  Shalt  see  then  how  the  game  will  fare,' 
The  taunted  knight  replied." 

u  This  very  noon,"  said  the  younger  knight  to  the 
Duke,  "we  will  deliver  up  to  you  this  handful  of 
villains. 

"  And  thus  they  to  each  other  said, 

'  Von  handful  down  to  hew 

Will  be  no  boastful  tale  to  tell, 

The  peasants  are  so  few.'  " 


The  Battle  of  Sempach.  177 

Characteristically  enough,  the  doughty  cobbler 
describes  how  the  first  execution  that  took  place 
was  the  lopping  off  the  long-peaked  toes  of  the  boots 
that  the  gentlemen  wore  chained  to  their  knees,  and 
which  would  have  impeded  them  on  foot  ;  since  it 
had  been  decided  that  the  horses  were  too  much 
tired  to  be  serviceable  in  the  action. 

"  There  was  lacing  then  of  helmets  bright, 
And  closing  ranks  amain, 
The  peaks  they  hewed  from  their  boot  points 
Might  wellnigh  load  a  wain." 

They  were  drawn  up  in  a  solid  compact  body, 
presenting  an  unbroken  line  of  spears,  projecting 
beyond  the  wall  of  gay  shields  and  polished  impen- 
etrable armor. 

The  Swiss  were  not  only  few  in  number,  but  ar- 
mor was  scarce  among  them  ;  some  had  only  boards 
fastened  on  their  arms  by  way  of  shields,  some  had 
halberts,  which  had  been  used  by  their  fathers  at 
the  battle  of  Morgarten,  others  two-handed  swords 
and  battle-axes.  They  drew  themselves  up  in  form 
of  a  wedge,  and 

"  The  gallant  Swiss  confederates  then 
They  prayed  to  God  aloud, 
And  He  displayed  His  rainbow  fair, 
Against  a  swarthy  cloud." 

Then  they  rushed  upon  the  serried  spears,  but  in 
vain.     "  The  game  was  nothing  sweet." 

The  banner  of  Lucerne  was  in  the  utmost  dan- 
ger, the  Landamman  was  slain,  and  sixty  of  his  men, 
and  not  an  Austrian  had  been  wounded.  The  flanks 
of  the  Austrian  host  began  to  advance  so  as  to 
enclose  the  small  peasant  force,  and  involve  it  in  ir- 
remediable destruction.  A  moment  of  dismay  and 
stillness  ensued.     Then  Arnold  von  Winkelried  of 


178  A  Book  of  Golde?i  Deeds. 

Unterwalden,  with  an  eagle  glance  saw  the  only 
means  of  saving  his  country,  and,  with  the  decision 
of  a  man  who  dares  by  dying  to  do  all  things,  shout- 
ed aloud  :  "  I  will  open  a  passage." 

"  '  I  have  a  virtuous  wife  at  home, 
A  wife  and  infant  son  : 
I  leave  them  to  my  country's  care, 
The  field  shall  yet  be  won  !  ' 
He  rushed  against  the  Austrian  band 
In  desperate  career, 
And  with  his  body,  breast,  and  hand, 
Bore  down  each  hostile  spear ; 
Four  lances  splintered  on  his  crest, 
Six  shivered  in  his  side, 
Still  on  the  serried  files  he  pressed. 
He  broke  their  ranks  and  died  !  " 

The  very  weight  of  the  desperate  charge  of  this 
self-devoted  man  opened  a  breach  in  the  line  of 
spears.  In  rushed  the  Swiss  wedge,  and  the  weight 
of  the  nobles'  armor  and  length  of  their  spears  was 
only  encumbering.  They  began  to  fall  before  the 
Swiss  blows,  and  Duke  Leopold  was  urged  to  fly. 
"I  had  rather  die  honorably  than  live  with  dishon- 
or," he  said.  He  saw  his  standard-bearer  struck  to 
the  ground,  and  seizing  his  banner  from  his  hand, 
waved  it  over  his  head,  and  threw  himself  among 
the  thickest  of  the  foe.  His  corpse  was  found  amid 
a  heap  of  slain,  and  no  less  than  2,000  of  his  com- 
panions perished  with  him,  of  whom  a  third  are  said 
to  have  been  counts,  barons,  and  knights. 

"  Then  lost  was  banner,  spear,  and  shield 
At  Sempach  in  the  flight ; 
The  cloister  vaults  at  Konigsfeldt 
Hold  many  an  Austrian  knight." 

The  Swiss  only  lost  200  ;  but,  as  they  were  spent 
with  the   excessive  heat  of  the  July  sun,  they  did 


The  Battle  of  Sempach.  1 79 

not  pursue  their  enemies.  They  gave  thanks  on 
the  battle-field  to  the  God  of  victories,  and  the  next 
day  buried  the  dead,  carrying  Duke  Leopold  and 
twenty-seven  of  his  most  illustrious  companions  to 
the  Abbey  of  Konigsfeldt,  where  they  buried  him  in 
the  old  tomb  of  his  forefathers,  the  lords  of  Aargau, 
who  had  been  laid  there  in  the  good  old  times,  be- 
fore the  house  of  Hapsburg  had  grown  arrogant 
with  success. 

As  to  the  master-singer,  he  tells  us  of  himself 
that 

"  A  merry  man  was  he,  I  wot, 
The  night  he  made  the  lay, 
Returning  from  the  bloody  spot 
Where  God  had  judged  the  day." 

On  every  9th  of  July  subsequently,  the  people  of 
the  country  have  been  wont  to  assemble  on  the  bat- 
tle-field, around  four  stone  crosses  which  mark  the 
spot.  A  priest  from  a  pulpit  in  the  open  air  gives  a 
thanksgiving  sermon  on  the  victory  that  insured  the 
freedom  of  Switzerland,  and  another  reads  the  nar- 
rative of  the  battle,  and  the  roll  of  the  brave  200, 
who,  after  Winkelried's  example,  gave  their  lives  in 
the  cause.  All  this  is  in  the  face  of  the  mountains 
and  the  lake  now  lying  in  summer  stillness,  and  the 
harvest  fields  whose  crops  are  secure  from  maraud- 
ers, and  the  congregation  then  proceed  to  the  small 
chapel,  the  walls  of  which  are  painted  with  the  deed 
of  Arnold  von  Winkelried,  and  the  other  distin- 
guished achievements  of  the  confederates,  and  mass- 
es are  sung  for  the  souls  of  those  who  were  slain. 
No  wonder  that  men  thus  nurtured  in  the  memory 
of  such  actions  were,  even  to  the  fall  of  the  French 
monarchy,  among  the  most  trustworthy  soldiery  of 
Europe. 


THE   CONSTANT  PRINCE. 

1433- 

THE  illustrious  days  of  Portugal  were  during  the 
century  and  a  half  of  the  dynasty  termed  the 
House  of  Aviz,  because  its  founder,  Dom  Joao  I. 
had  been  Grand  Master  of  the  military  order  of 
Aviz. 

His  right  to  the  throne  was  questionable,  or  more 
truly  null,  and  he  had  only  obtained  the  crown  from 
the  desire  of  the  nation  to  be  independent  of  Cas- 
tille,  and  by  the  assistance  of  our  own  John  of  Gaunt, 
whose  daughter,  Philippa  of  Lancaster,  became  his 
wife,  thus  connecting  the  glories  of  his  line  with  our 
own  house  of  Plantagenet. 

Philippa  was  greatly  beloved  in  Portugal,  and  was 
a  most  noble-minded  woman,  who  infused  her  own 
spirit  into  her  children.  She  had  five  sons,  and 
when  they  all  had  attained  an  age  to  be  admitted  to 
the  order  of  knighthood,  their  father  proposed  to 
give  a  grand  tournament  in  which  they  might  evince 
their  prowess.  This,  however,  seemed  but  play  to 
the  high-spirited  youths,  who  had  no  doubt  fed  upon 
the  story  of  the  manner  in  which  their  uncle,  the 
Black  Prince,  whose  name  was  borne  by  the  eldest, 
had  won  his  spurs  at  Crecy.  Their  entreaty  was, 
not  to  be  carpet-knights,  dubbed  in  time  of  peace, 
and  King  Joao,  on  the  other  hand,  objected  to  en- 
tering on  a  war  merely  for  the  sake  of  knighting  his 


The  Constant  Prince.  181 

sons.  At  last  Dom  Fernando,  the  youngest  of  the 
brothers,  a  lad  of  fourteen,  proposed  that  their 
knighthood  should  be  earned  by  an  expedition  to 
take  Ceuta  from  the  Moors.  A  war  with  the  infidel 
never  came  amiss,  and  was  in  fact  regarded  as  a  sa- 
cred duty  ;  moreover,  Ceuta  was  a  nest  of  corsairs 
who  infested  the  whole  Mediterranean  coast.  Up 
to  the  present  century  the  seaports  along  the  Afri- 
can coast  of  the  Mediterranean  have  been  the  hives 
of  pirates,  whose  small  rapid  vessels  were  the  ter- 
ror of  every  unarmed  ship  that  sailed  in  those  wa- 
ters, and  whose  descents  upon  the  coasts  of  Spain, 
France,  and  Italy,  rendered  life  and  property  con- 
stantly insecure.  A  regular  system  of  kidnapping 
prevailed  ;  prisoners  had  their  fixed  price,  and  were 
carried  off  to  labor  in  the  African  dock-yards,  or  to 
be  chained  to  the  benches  of  the  Moorish  ships 
which  their  oars  propelled,  until  either  a  ransom 
could  be  procured  from  their  friends,  or  they  could 
be  persuaded  to  become  renegades,  or  death  put  an 
end  to  their  sufferings.  A  captivity  among  the 
Moors  was  by  no  means  an  uncommon  circum- 
stance even  in  the  lives  of  Englishmen  down  to  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  pious  persons  frequently 
bequeathed  sums  of  money  for  the  ransom  of  the 
poorer  captives. 

Ceuta,  perched  upon  the  southern  Pillar  of  Her- 
cules, was  one  of  the  most  perilous  of  these  dens  of 
robbery,  and  to  seize  it  might  well  appear  a  worthy 
action,  not  only  to  the  fiery  princes,  but  to  their 
cautious  father.  He  kept  his  designs  absolutely  se- 
cret, and  contrived  to  obtain  a  plan  of  the  town  by 
causing  one  of  his  vessels  to  put  in  there  as  in  quest 
of  provisions,  while,  to  cover  his  preparations  for 
war,  he  sent  a  public  challenge  to  the  Count  of  Hol- 
land, and  a  secret  message  at  the  same  time,  with 
the  assurance  that  it  was  only  a  blind.  These  pro- 
ceedings were  certainly  underhand,  and  partook  of 


1 82  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

treachery ;  but  they  were  probably  excused  in  the 
king's  own  mind  by  the  notion,  that  no  faith  was  to 
be  kept  with  unbelievers,  and,  moreover,  such  people 
as  the  Ceutans  were  likely  never  to  be  wanting  in 
the  supply  of  pretexts  for  attack. 

Just  as  all  was  ready,  the  plague  broke  out  in  Lis- 
bon, and  the  queen  fell  sick  of  it.  Her  husband 
would  not  leave  her,  and  just  before  her  death  she 
sent  for  all  her  sons,  and  gave  to  each  a  sword, 
charging  them  to  defend  the  widow  and  orphan, 
and  to  fight  against  the  infidel.  In  the  full  fresh- 
ness of  their  sorrow,  the  king  and  his  sons  set  sail 
from  the  Bay  of  Lagos,  in  the  August  of  141 5,  with 
59  galleys,  33  ships  of  war,  and  120  transports  ;  the 
largest  fleet  ever  yet  sent  forth  by  the  little  king- 
dom, and  the  first  that  had  left  a  Peninsular  port 
with  the  banners  and  streamers  of  which  the  more 
northern  armaments  were  so  profuse. 

The  governor  of  Ceuta,  Zala  ben  Zala,  was  not 
unprepared  for  the  attack,  and  had  collected  5,000 
allies  to  resist  the  Christians  ;  but  a  great  storm 
having  dispersed  the  fleet  on  the  first  day  of  its  ap- 
pearance, he  thought  the  danger  over,  and  dis- 
missed his  friends.  On  the  14th  of  August,  howev- 
er, the  whole  fleet  again  appeared,  and  the  king,  in 
a  little  boat,  directed  the  landing  of  his  men,  led  by 
his  sons,  the  Infantes  Duarte  and  Henrique.  The 
Moors  gave  way  before  them,  and  they  entered  the 
city  with  500  men,  among  the  flying  enemy,  and 
there,  after  a  period  of  much  danger,  were  joined  by 
their  brother  Pedro.  The  three  fought  their  way  to 
a  mosque,  where  they  defended  themselves  till  the 
king  with  the  rest  of  his  army  made  their  way  in. 
Zala  ben  Zala  fled  to  the  citadel,  but,  after  one  as- 
sault, quitted  it  in  the  night. 

The  Christian  captives  were  released,  the  mosque 
purified  and  consecrated  as  a  cathedral,  a  bishop 
was  appointed,  and  the  king  gave  the  government 


The  Constant  Prince.  183 

of  the  place  to  Dom  Pedro  de  Menezes,  a  knight  of 
such  known  fidelity  that  the  king  would  not  sutler 
him  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance.  An  attempt  was 
made  by  the  Moors  four  years  later  to  recover  the 
place  ;  but  the  Infantes  Pedro  and  Henrique  hur- 
ried from  Portugal  to  succor  Menezes,  and  drove 
back  the  besiegers  ;  whereupon  the  Moors  murdered 
their  king,  Abu  Sayd,  on  whom  they  laid  the  blame 
of  the  disaster. 

On  the  day  eighteen  years  of  the  taking  of  Ceuta, 
King  Joao  died  of  the  plague  at  Lisbon,  on  the  14th 
of  August,  1433.  Duarte  came  to  the  throne  ;  and, 
a  few  months  after,  his  young  brother,  Fernando, 
persuaded  him  into  fitting  out  another  expedition 
to  Africa,  of  which  Tangier  should  be  the  object. 

Duarte  doubted  of  the  justice  of  the  war,  and  re- 
ferred the  question  to  the  Pope,  who  decided  against 
it ;  but  the  answer  came  too  late,  the  preparations 
were  made,  and  the  Infantes  Henrique  and  Fer- 
nando took  the  command.  Henrique  was  a  most 
enlightened  prince,  a  great  mathematician  and  na- 
val discoverer,  but  he  does  not  appear  to  have  made 
good  use  of  his  abilities  on  the  present  occasion  ; 
for,  on  arriving  at  Ceuta,  and  reviewing  the  troops, 
they  proved  to  have  but  8,000,  instead  of  14,000,  as 
they  had  intended.  Still  they  proceeded,  Henrique 
by  land  and  Fernando  by  sea,  and  laid  siege  to 
Tangier,  which  was  defended  by  their  old  enemy, 
Zala  ben  Zala.  Everything  was  against  them  :  their 
scaling-ladders  were  too  short  to  reach  to  the  top 
of  the  walls,  and  the  Moors  had  time  to  collect  in 
enormous  numbers  for  the  relief  of  the  city,  under 
the  command  of  the  kings  of  Fez  and  Morocco. 

The  little  Christian  army  was  caught  as  in  a  net, 
and,  after  a  day's  hard  fighting,  saw  the  necessity 
of  re-embarking.  All  was  arranged  for  this  to  be 
done  at  night ;  but  a  vile  traitor,  chaplain  to  the 
army,    passed   over    to    the    Moors,    and   revealed 


1 84  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

their  intention.  The  beach  was  guarded,  and  the 
retreat  cut  off  Another  day  of  fighting  passed, 
and  at  night  hunger  reduced  them  to  eating  their 
horses. 

It  was  necessary  to  come  to  terms,  and  messen- 
gers were  sent  to  treat  with  the  two  kings.  The 
only  terms  on  which  the  army  could  be  allowed  to 
depart  were  that  one  of  the  Infantes  should  remain 
as  a  hostage  for  the  delivery  of  Ceuta  to  the  Moors. 
For  this  purpose  Fernando  offered  himself,  though 
it  was  exceedingly  doubtful  whether  Ceuta  would 
be  restored ;  and  the  Spanish  poet,  Calderon,  puts 
into  his  mouth  a  generous  message  to  his  brother 
the  king,  that  they  both  were  Christian  princes, 
and  that  his  liberty  was  not  to  be  weighed  in  the 
scale  with  their  father's  fairest  conquest. 

Henrique  was  forced  thus  to  leave  his  brave 
brother,  and  return  with  the  remnants  of  his  army 
to  Ceuta,  where  he  fell  sick  with  grief  and  vexation. 
He  sent  the  fleet  home  ;  but  it  met  with  a  great 
storm,  and  many  vessels  were  driven  on  the  coast 
of  Andalusia,  where,  by  orders  of  the  king,  the  bat- 
tered sailors  and  defeated  soldiers  were  most  kindly 
and  generously  treated. 

Dom  Duarte,  having  in  the  mean  time  found  out 
with  how  insufficient  an  army  his  brothers  had  been 
sent  forth,  had  equipped  a  fresh  fleet,  the  arrival  of 
which  at  Ceuta  cheered  Henrique  with  hope  of  res- 
cuing his  brother  ;  but  it  was  soon  followed  by  ex- 
press orders  from  the  king  that  Henrique  should 
give  up  all  such  projects  and  return  home.  He 
was  obliged  to  comply,  but,  unable  to  look  Duarte 
in  the  face,  he  retired  to  his  own  estates  at  the 
Algarve. 

Duarte  convoked  the  States-general  of  the  king- 
dom, to  consider  whether  Ceuta  should  be  yielded 
to  purchase  his  brother's  freedom.  They  decided 
that   the   place   was   too    important    to   be   parted 


The  Constant  Prince.  185 

with,  but  undertook  to  raise  any  sum  of  money 
for  the  ransom ;  and  if  this  were  not  accepted,  pro- 
posed to  ask  the  Pope  to  proclaim  a  crusade  for  his 
rescue. 

At  first  Fernando  was  treated  well,  and  kept  at 
Tangier  as  an  honorable  prisoner ;  but  disappoint- 
ment enraged  the  Moors,  and  he  was  thrown  into  a 
dungeon,  starved,  and  maltreated.  All  this  usage 
he  endured  with  the  utmost  calmness  and  resolu- 
tion, and  could  by  no  means  be  threatened  into 
entreating  for  liberty  to  be  won  at  the  cost  of  the 
now  Christian  city  where  his  knighthood  had  been 
won. 

His  brother  Duarte  meantime  endeavored  to  raise 
the  country  for  his  deliverance  ;  but  the  plague  was 
still  desolating.  Portugal,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to 
collect  an  army,  and  the  infection  at  length  seized 
on  the  king  himself,  from  a  letter  which  he  incau- 
tiously opened,  and  he  died,  in  the  thirty-eighth  year, 
in  1438,  the  sixth  year  of  his  reign,  and  the  second 
of  his  brother's  captivity.  His  successor,  Affonso 
V.,  was  a  child  of  six  years  oid,  and  quarrels  and 
disputes  between  the  Queen  Mother  and  the  Infante 
Dora  Pedro  rendered  the  chance  of  redeeming  the 
captivity  of  Fernando  less  and  less. 

The  king  of  Castille  and  even  the  Moorish  king 
of  Granada,  shocked  at  his  sufferings  and  touched 
by  his  constancy,  proposed  to  unite  their  forces 
against  Tangier  for  his  deliverance  ;  but  the  effect 
of  this  was  that  Zala  ben  Zala  made  him  over  to 
Muley-Xeques,  the  king  of  Fez,  by  whom  he  was 
thrown  into  a  dungeon  without  light  or  air.  After  a 
time,  he  was  brought  back  to  daylight,  but  only  to 
toil  among  the  other  Christain  slaves,  to  whom  he 
was  a  model  of  patience,  resignation,  and  kindness. 
Even  his  enemies  became  struck  with  admiration 
of  his  high  qualities,  and  the  king  of  Fez  declared 
that  he  even  deserved  to  be  a  Mahometan  ! 


1 86  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

At  last,  in  1443,  Fernando's  captivity  ended,  but 
only  by  his  death.  Muley  Xeque  caused  a  tall  tow- 
er to  be  erected  on  his  tomb,  in  memory  of  the 
victory  of  Tangier  ;  but  in  1473,  two  sons  of  Muley 
being  made  prisoners  by  the  Portuguese,  one  was 
ransomed  for  the  body  of  Dom  Fernando,  who  was 
then  solemnly  laid  in  the  vaults  of  the  beautiful 
Abbey  of  Batalha,  on  the  field  of  Aljubarota,  which 
had  given  his  father  the  throne.  Universal  honor 
attended  the  name  of  the  Constant  Prince,  the  Por- 
tuguese Regulus  ;  and  seldom  as  the  Spanish  ad- 
mire anything  Portuguese,  a  fine  drama  of  the  poet 
Calderon  is  founded  upon  that  noble  spirit  which 
preferred  dreary  captivity  to  the  yielding  up  his 
father's  conquest  to  the  enemies  of  his  country  and 
religion.  Nor  was  this  constancy  thrown  away  ; 
Ceuta  remained  a  Christian  city.  It  was  held  by 
Portugal  till  the  house  of  Avis  was  extinguished  in 
Dom  Sebastiao,  and  since  that  time  has  belonged  to 
the  crown  of  Spain. 


THE    CARNIVAL   OF   PERTH. 

H35- 

IT  was  bedtime,  and  the  old  vaulted  chambers  of 
the  Dominican  monastery  at  Perth  echoed  with 
sounds  that  would  seem  incongruous  in  such  a  home 
of  austerity,  but  that  the  disturbed  state  of  Scotland 
rendered  it  the  habit  of  her  kings  to  attach  their 
palaces  to  convents,  that  they  themselves  might 
benefit  by  the  "  peace  of  the  Church,"  which  was 
in  general  accorded  to  all  sacred  spots. 

Thus  it  was  that  Christmas  and  Carnival  time  of 
1435-6  had  been  spent  by  the  Court  in  the  clois- 
ters of  Perth,  and  the  dance,  the  song,  and  the 
tourney  had  strangely  contrasted  with  the  grave  and 
self-denying  habits  to  which  the  Dominicans  were 
devoted  in  their  neighboring  cells.  The  festive 
season  was  nearly  at  an  end,  for  it  was  the  20th  of 
February ;  but  the  evening  had  been  more  than 
usually  gay,  and  had  been  spent  in  games  at  chess, 
tables,  or  backgammon,  reading  romances  of  chiv- 
alry, harping  and  singing.  King  James  himself, 
brave  and  handsome,  and  in  the  prime  of  life,  was 
the  blithest  of  the  whole  joyous  party.  He  was 
the  most  accomplished  man  in  his  dominions  ;  for 
though  he  had  been  basely  kept  a  prisoner  at 
Windsor  throughout  his  boyhood  by  Henry  IV.  of 
England,  an  education  had  been  bestowed  on  him 
far  above  what  he  would  have  otherwise  obtained  ; 


1 88  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

and  he  was  naturally  a  man  of  great  ability,  refine- 
ment, and  strength  of  character.  Not  only  was  he 
a  perfect  knight  on  horseback,  but  in  wrestling  and 
running,  throwing  the  hammer,  and  "putting  the 
stane,"  he  had  scarcely  a  rival,  and  he  was  skilled 
in  all  the  learned  lore  of  the  time,  wrote  poetry, 
composed  music  both  sacred  and  profane,  and  was  a 
complete  minstrel,  able  to  sing  beautifully,  and  to 
play  on  the  harp  and  organ.  His  queen,  the  beau- 
tiful Joan  Beaufort,  had  been  the  lady  of  his  min- 
strelsy in  the  days  of  his  captivity,  ever  since  he 
had  watched  her  walking  on  the  slopes  of  Windsor 
Park,  and  wooed  her  in  verses  that  are  still  pre- 
served. They  had  now  been  eleven  years  married, 
and  their  Court  was  one  bright  spot  of  civilization, 
refinement,  and  grace,  amid  the  savagery  of  Scot- 
land. And  now,  after  the  pleasant  social  evening, 
the  queen,  with  her  long  fair  hair  unbound,  was 
sitting  under  the  hands  of  her  tirewomen,  who  were 
preparing  her  for  the  night's  rest ;  and  the  king,  in 
his  furred  nightgown,  was  standing  before  the  bright 
fire  on  the  hearth  of  the  wide  chimney,  laughing 
and  talking  with  the  attendant  ladies. 

Yet  dark  hints  had  already  been  whispered, 
which  might  have  cast  a  shadow  over  that  careless 
mirth.  Always  fierce  and  vindictive,  the  Scots  had 
been  growing  more  and  more  lawless  and  savage 
ever  since  the  disputed  succession  of  Bruce  and 
Balliol  had  unsettled  all  royal  authority,  and  led  to 
one  perpetual  war  with  the  English.  The  twenty 
years  of  James's  captivity  had  been  the  worst  of  all, 
—  almost  every  noble  was  a  robber  chief;  Scottish 
borderer  preyed  upon  English  borderer,  Highlander 
upon  Lowlander,  knight  upon  traveller,  every  one 
who  had  armor  upon  him  who  had  not ;  each  clan 
was  at  deadly  feud  with  its  neighbor ;  blood  was 
shed  like  water  from  end  to  end  of  the  miserable 
land,  and  the  higher  the  birth  of  the  offender  the 
greater  the  impunity  he  claimed. 


The  Carnival  of  Perth.  1 89 

Indeed,  James  himself  had  been  brought  next  to 
the  throne  by  one  of  the  most  savage  and  horrible 
murders  ever  perpetrated,  —  that  of  his  elder  brother 
David,  by  his  own  uncle  ;  and  he  himself  had  pro- 
bably been  only  saved  from  sharing  the  like  fate  by 
being  sent  out  of  the  kingdom.  His  earnest  words 
on  his  return  to  take  the  rule  of  this  unhappy  realm 
were  these  :  "  Let  God  but  graut  me  life,  and  there 
shall  not  be  a  spot  in  my  realm  where  the  key  shall 
not  keep  the  castle,  and  the  bracken  bush  the  cow, 
though  I  should  lead  the  life  of  a  dog  to  accom- 
plish it." 

This  great  purpose  had  been  before  James  through 
the  eleven  years  of  his  reign,  and  he  had  worked  it 
out  resolutely.  The  lawless  nobles  would  not  brook 
his  ruling  hand,  and  strong  and  bitter  was  the  ha- 
tred that  had  arisen  against  him.  In  many  of  his 
transactions  he  was  far  from  blameless  :  he  was 
sometimes  tempted  to  craft,  sometimes  to  tyranny  ; 
but  his  object  was  always  a  high  and  kingly  one, 
though  he  was  led  by  the  horrible  wickedness  of  the 
men  he  had  to  deal  with  more  than  once  to  forget 
that  evil  is  not  to  be  overcome  with  evil,  but  with 
good.  In  the  main,  it  was  his  high  and  uncom- 
promising resolution  to  enforce  the  laws  upon  high 
and  low  alike  that  led  to  the  nobles'  conspiracies 
against  him  ;  though,  if  he  had  always  been  true  to 
his  purpose  of  swerving  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 
the  left,  he  might  have  avoided  the  last  fatal  offence 
that  armed  the  murderer  against  his  life. 

The  chief  misdoers  in  the  long  period  of  anarchy 
had  been  his  uncles  and  cousins  ;  nor  was  it  till 
after  his  eldest  uncle's  death  that  his  return  home 
had  been  possible.  With  a  strong  hand  had  he 
avenged  upon  the  princes  and  their  followers  the 
many  miseries  they  had  inflicted  upon  his  people  ; 
and  in  carrying  out  these  measures  he  had  seized 
upon  the   great  earldom  of  Strathern,   which    had 


190  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

descended  to  one  of  their  party  in  right  of  his  wife, 
declaring  that  it  could  not  be  inherited  by  a  female. 
In  this  he  appears  to  have  acted  unjustly,  from  the 
strong  desire  to  avail  himself  by  any  pretext  of  an 
opportunity  of  breaking  the  overweening  power  of 
the  great  turbulent  nobles  ;  and.  to  make  up  for  the 
loss,  he  created  the  new  earldom  of  Menteith,  for 
the  young  Malise  Graham,  the  son  of  the  dispos- 
sessed earl.  But  the  proud  and  vindictive  Grahams 
were  not  thus  to  be  pacified.  Sir  Robert  Graham, 
the  uncle  of  the  young  earl,  drew  off  into  the  High- 
lands, and  there  formed  a  conspiracy  among  other 
discontented  men  who  hated  the  resolute  govern- 
ment that  repressed  their  violence.  Men  of  princely 
blood  joined  in  the  plot,  and  300  Highland  catherans 
were  ready  to  accompany  the  expedition  that  prom- 
ised the  delights  of  war  and  plunder. 

Even  when  the  hard-worked  king  was  setting 
forth  to  enjoy  his  holiday  at  Perth,  the  traitors  had 
fixed  upon  that  spot  as  the  place  of  his  doom  ;  but 
the  scheme  was  known  to  so  many,  that  it  could  not 
be  kept  entirely  secret,  and  warnings  began  to 
gather  round  the  king.  When,  on  his  way  to  Perth, 
he  was  about  to  cross  the  Firth  of  Forth,  the  wild 
figure  of  a  Highland  woman  appeared  at  his  bridle 
rein,  and  solemnly  warned  him  "  that,  if  he  crossed 
that  water,  he  would  never  return  alive. -;  He  was 
struck  by  the  apparition,  and  bade  one  of  his 
knights  to  inquire  of  her  what  she  meant  ;  but  the 
knight  must  have  been  a  dullard  or  a  traitor,  for  he 
told  the  king  that  the  woman  was  either  mad  or 
drunk,  and  no  notice  was  taken  of  her  warning. 

There  was  likewise  a  saying  abroad  in  Scotland, 
that  the  new  year.  1436.  should  see  the  death  of  a 
king  ;  and  this  same  carnival  night.  James,  while 
playing  at  chess  with  a  young  friend,  whom  he  was 
wont  to  call  the  king  of  love,  laughingly  observed 
that  ,;  it  must  be  vou  or  I,  since  there  are  but  two 


The  Carnival  of  Perth.  191 

kings  in  Scotland,  —  therefore  look  well  to  your- 
self." 

Little  did  the  blithe  monarch  guess  that  at  that 
moment  one  of  the  conspirators,  touched  by  a  mo- 
ment's misgiving,  was  hovering  round,  seeking  in 
vain  for  an  opportunity  of  giving  him  warning ;  that 
even  then  his  chamberlain  and  kinsman,  Sir  Robert 
Stewart,  was  enabling  the  traitors  to  place  boards 
across  the  moat  for  their  passage,  and  to  remove 
the  bolts  and  bars  of  all  the  doors  in  their  way. 
And  the  Highland  woman  was  at  the  door,  earnest- 
ly entreating  to  see  the  king,  if  but  for  one  moment. 
The  message  was  even  brought  to  him,  but,  alas  ! 
he  bade  her  wait  till  the  morrow,  and  she  turned 
away,  declaring  that  she  should  never  more  see  his 
face. 

And  now,  as  before  said,  the  feast  was  over,  and 
the  king  stood  gayly  chatting  with  his  wife  and  her 
ladies,  when  the  clang  of  arms  was  heard,  and  the 
glare  of  torches  in  the  court  below  flashed  on  the 
windows.  The  ladies  flew  to  secure  the  doors. 
Alas  !  the  bolts  and  bars  were  gone  !  Too  late 
the  warnings  returned  upon  the  king's  mind,  and 
he  knew  it  was  he  alone  who  was  sought.  He  tried 
to  escape  by  the  windows,  but  here  the  bars  were 
but  too  firm.  Then  he  seized  the  tongs,  and  tore 
up  a  board  in  the  floor,  by  which  he  let  himself 
down  into  the  vault  below,  just  as  the  murderers 
came  rushing  along  the  passage,  slaying  on  their 
way  a  page  named  Walter  Straiton. 

There  was  no  bar  to  the  door.  Yes,  there  was. 
Catherine  Douglas,  worthy  of  her  name,  worthy  of 
the  cognizance  of  the  bleeding  heart,  thrust  her  arm 
through  the  empty  staples  to  gain  for  her  sovereign 
a  few  moments  more  for  escape  and  safety  !  But 
though  true  as  steel,  the  brave  arm  was  not  as 
strong.  It  was  quickly  broken.  She  was  thrust 
fainting  aside,  and  the  ruffians  rushed  in.     Queen 


192  A  Book  of  Golde7i  Deeds. 

Joan  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  room,  with  her  hair 
streaming  round  her.  and  her  mantle  thrown  hastily 
on.  Some  of  the  wretches  even  struck  and  wound- 
ed her.  but  Graham  called  them  off.  and  bade  them 
search  for  the  king.  They  sought  him  m  vain  in 
every  corner  of  the  women's  apartments,  and  dis- 
persed through  the  other  rooms  in  search  of  their 
prey.  The  ladies  began  to  hope  that  the  citizens 
and'  nobles  in  the  town  were  coming  to  their  help, 
and  that  the  king  might  have  escaped  through  an 
opening  that  led  from  the  vault  into  the  tennis-court. 
Presently,  however,  the  king  called  to  them  to  draw 
him  up  again,  for  he  had  not  been  able  to  get  out 
of  the  vault,  having  a  few  days  before  caused  the 
hole  to  be  bricked  up,  because  his  tennis-balls  used 
to  fly  into  it  and  be  lost.  In  trying  to  draw  him  up 
by  the  sheets.  Elizabeth  Douglas,  another  of  the 
ladies,  was  actually  pulled  down  into  the  vault  ;  the 
noise  was  heard  by  the  assassins,  who  were  still 
watching  outside,  and  they  returned. 

•  There  is  no  need  to  tell  of  the  foul  and  cruel 
slaughter  that  ensued,  nor  of  the  barbarous  ven- 
geance that  visited  it.  Our  tale  is  of  golden,  not  of 
brazen  deeds  ;  and  if  we  have  turned  our  eyes  for  a 
moment  to  the  Bloody  Carnival  of  Perth,  it  is  for 
the  sake  of  the  king,  who  was  too  upright  for  his 
bloodthirsty  subjects,  and.  above  all,  ior  that  of  the 
noble-hearted  lady  whose  frail  arm  was  the  guardian 
of  her  sovereign's  life  in  the  extremity  of  peril. 

In  like  manner,  on  the  dreadful  6th  of  October, 
1787.  when  the  infuriated  mob  of  Paris  had  been 
incited  by  the-  revolutionary  leaders  to  rush  to  Ver- 
sailles in  pursuit  of  the  royal  family,  whose  absence 
they  fancied  deprived  them  of  bread  and  liberty,  a 
woman  shared  the  honor  of  saving  her  sovereign's 
life,  at  least  for  that  time. 

The  confusion  of  the  day.  with  the  multitude 
thronging  the  courts  and  park  of  Versailles,  utter- 


The  Carnival  of  Perth.  193 

ing  the  most  frightful  threats  and  insults,  had  been 
beyond  all  description  :  but  there  had  been  a  pause 
at  night,  and  at  two  o'clock,  poor  Queen  Maria  An- 
toinette, spent  with  horror  and  fatigue,  at  last  went 
to  bed,  advising  her  ladies  to  do  the  same  ;  but 
their  anxiety  was  too  great,  and  they  sat  up  at  her 
door.  At  half-past  four  they  heard  musket-shots 
and  loud  shouts,  and  while  one  awakened  the  queen, 
the  other,  Madame  Auguier,  flew  towards  the  place 
whence  the  noise  came.  As  she  opened  the  door, 
she  found  one  of  the  royal  body-guards,  with  his 
face  covered  with  blood,  holding  his  musket  so  as 
to  bar  the  door,  while  the  furious  mob  were  striking 
at  him.  He  turned  to  the  lady,  and  cried,  "  Save 
the  queen,  madame,  they  are  come  to  murder  her ! " 
Quick  as  lightning,  Madame  Auguier  shut  and  bolt- 
ed the  door,  rushed  to  the  queen's  bedside,  and 
dragged  her  to  the  opposite  door,  with  a  petticoat 
just  thrown  over  her.  Behold,  the  door  was  fast- 
ened on  the  other  side  !  The  ladies  knocked  vio- 
lently, the  king's  valet  opened  it,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes the  whole  family  were  in  safety  in  the  king's 
apartments.  M.  de  Miomandre,  the  brave  guards- 
man, who  used  his  musket  to  guard  the  queen's 
door  instead  of  to  defend  himself,  fell  wounded  ; 
but  his  comrade,  M.  de  Repaire,  at  once  took  his 
place,  and,  according  to  one  account,  was  slain,  and 
the  next  day  his  head,  set  upon  a  pike,  was  borne 
before  the  carriage  in  which  the  royal  family  were 
escorted  back  to  Paris. 

M.  de  Miomandre,  however,  recovered  from  his 
wounds,  and  a  few  weeks  after,  the  queen,  hearing 
that  his  loyalty  had  made  him  a  mark  for  the  hatred 
of  the  mob,  sent  for  him  to  desire  him  to  quit  Paris. 
She  said  that  gold  could  not  repay  such  a  service  as 
his  had  been,  but  she  hoped  one  day  to  be  able  to 
recompense  him  more  as  he  deserved  ;  meanwhile, 
she  hoped  he  would  consider,  that  as  a  sister  might 
*3 


194  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

advance  a  timely  sum  to  a  brother,  so  she  might  of- 
fer him  enough  to  defray  his  expenses  at  Paris,  and 
to  provide  for  his  journey.  In  a  private  audience, 
-then,  he  kissed  her  hand,  and  those  of  the  king, 
and  his  saintly  sister,  Elizabeth,  while  the  queen 
gratefully  expressed  her  thanks,  and  the  king  stood 
by,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  but  withheld  by  his  awk- 
ward bashfulness  from  expressing  the  feelings  that 
overpowered  him. 

Madame  Auguier  and  her  sister,  Madame  Cam- 
pan,  continued  with  their  royal  lady  until  the  next 
stage  in  that  miserable  downfall  of  all  that  was  high 
and  noble  in  unhappy  France.  She  lived  through 
the  horrors  of  the  Revolution,  and  her  daughter  be- 
came the  wife  of  Marshal  Ney. 

Well  it  is  that  the  darkening  firmament  does  but 
show  the  stars,  and  that  when  treason  and  murder 
surge  round  the  fated  chambers  of  royalty,  their 
foulness  and  violence  do.  but  enhance  the  loyal  self- 
sacrifice  of  such  door-keepers  as  Catharine  Doug- 
las, Madame  Auguier,  or  M.  de  Miomandre. 

Such  deeds  can  woman's  spirit  do, 
O  Catharine  Douglas,  brave  and  true  ! 
Let  Scotland  keep  thy  holy  name 
Still  first  upon  her  ranks  of  fame. 


THE    CROWN    OF   ST.  STEPHEN. 

1440. 

OF  all  the  possessions  of  the  old  kingdom  of 
Hungary,  none  was  more  valued  than  what 
was  called  the  Crown  of  St.  Stephen,  so  called  from 
one,  which  had,  in  the  year  1000,  been  presented  by 
Pope  Sylvester  II.  to  Stephen,  the  second  Christian 
Duke,  and  first  king  of  Hungary.  A  crown  and  a 
cross  were  given  to  him  for  his  coronation,  which 
took  place  in  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  at 
Alba  Regale,  also  called  in  German  Weissenburg, 
where  thenceforth  the  kings  of  Hungary  were 
anointed  to  begin  their  troubled  reigns,  and  at  the 
close  of  them  were  laid  to  rest  beneath  the  pave- 
ment, where  most  of  them  might  have  used  the 
same  epitaph  as  the  old  Italian  leader:  "  He  rests 
here,  who  never  rested  before."  For  it  was  a  wild 
realm,  bordered  on  all  sides  by  foes,  with  Poland, 
Bohemia,  and  Austria,  ever  casting  greedy  eyes 
upon  it,  and  afterwards  with  the  Turk  upon  the 
southern  border,  while  the  Magyars,  or  Hungarian 
nobles,  themselves  were  a  fierce  and  untamable 
race,  bold  and  generous,  but  brooking  little  control, 
claiming  a  voice  in  choosing  their  own  sovereign, 
and  to  resist  him,  even  by  force  of  arms,  if  he  broke 
the  laws.  No  prince  had  a  right  to  their  allegiance 
unless  he  had  been  crowned  with  St.  Stephen's 
Crown  ;  but  if  he  had  once  worn  that  sacred  circle, 


196  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

he  thenceforth  was  held  as  the  only  lawful  monarch, 
unless  he  should  flagrantly  violate  the  Constitution. 
In  1076,  another  crown  had  been  given  by  the 
Greek  emperor  to  Geysa,  king  of  Hungary,  and 
the  sacred  crown  combined  the  two.  It  had  the 
two  arches  of  the  Roman  crown,  and  the  gold  cir- 
clet of  the  Constantinopolitan  ;  and  the  difference 
of  workmanship  was  evident. 

In  the  year  1439  died  King  Albert,  who  had  been 
appointed  king  of  Hungary  in  right  of  his  wife, 
Queen  Elizabeth.  He  left  a  little  daughter  only 
four  years  old,  and  as  the  Magyars  had  never  been 
governed  by  a  female  hand,  they  proposed  to  send 
and  offer  their  crown,  and  the  hand  of  their  young 
widowed  queen,  to  Wladislas,  the  king  of  Poland. 
But  Elizabeth  had  hopes  of  another  child,  and  in 
case  it  should  be  a  son,  she  had  no  mind  to  give 
away  its  rights  to  its  father's  throne.  How,  then, 
was  she  to  help  herself  among  the  proud  and  deter- 
mined nobles  of  her  court  ?  One  thing  was  certain, 
that  if  once  the  Polish  king  were  crowned  with  St. 
Stephen's  Crown,  it  would  be  his  own  fault  if  he 
were  not  king  of  Hungary  as  long  as  he  lived  ;  but 
if  the  crown  were  not  to  be  found,  of  course  he 
could  not  receive  it,  and  the  fealty  of  the  nobles 
would  not  be  pledged  to  him. 

The  most  trustworthy  person  she  had  about  her 
was  Helen  Kottenner,  the  lady  who  had  the  charge 
of  her  little  daughter,  Princess  Elizabeth,  and  to 
her  she  confided  her  desire  that  the  crown  might  be 
secured,  so  as  to  prevent  the  Polish  party  from  get- 
ting access  to  it.  Helen  herself  has  written  down 
the  history  of  these  strange  events,  and  of  her  own 
struggles  of  mind,  at  the  risk  she  ran,  and  the 
doubt  whether  good  would  come  of  the  intrigue  ; 
and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  whether  the 
queen's  conduct  were  praiseworthy  or  not,  Helen 
dared  a  great  peril  for  the  sake  purely  of  loyalty 


The  Crown  of  St.  Stephen.  197 

and  fidelity.  "  The  queen's  commands,"  she  says, 
"sorely  troubled  me  ;  for  it  was  a  dangerous  ven- 
ture for  me  and  my  little  children,  and  I  turned  it 
over  in  my  mind  what  I  should  do,  for  I  had  no 
one  to  take  counsel  of  but  God  alone ;  and  I 
thought  if  I  did  it  not,  and  evil  arose  therefrom,  I 
should  be  guilty  before  God  and  the  world.  So  I 
consented  to  risk  my  life  on  this  difficult  undertak- 
ing ;  but  desired  to  have  some  one  to  help  me." 
This  was  permitted  ;  but  the  first  person  to  whom 
the  Lady  of  Kottenner  confided  her  intention,  a 
Croat,  lost  his  color  from  alarm,  looked  like  one 
half  dead,  and  went  at  once  in  search  of  his  horse. 
The  next  thing  that  was  heard  of  him  was  that  he 
had  had  a  bad  fall  from  his  horse,  and  had  been 
obliged  to  return  to  Croatia,  and  the  queen  re- 
mained much  alarmed  at  her  plans  being  known  to 
one  so  faint-hearted.  However,  a  more  courageous 
confidant  was  afterwards  found  in  a  Hungarian 
gentleman,  whose  name  has  become  illegible  in 
Helen's  old  manuscript. 

The  crown  was  in  the  vaults  of  the  strong  castle 
of  Plintenburg,  also  called  Vissegrad,  which  stands 
upon  a  bend  of  the  Danube,  about  twelve  miles 
from  the  twin  cities  of  Buda  and  Pesth.  It  was 
in  a  case,  within  a  chest,  sealed  with  many  seals, 
and  since  the  king's  death,  it  had  been  brought 
up  by  the  nobles,  who  closely  guarded  both  it  and 
the  queen,  into  her  apartments,  and  there  examined 
and  replaced  it  in  the  chest.  The  next  night,  one 
of  the  queen's  ladies  upset  a  wax  taper,  with- 
out being  aware  of  it,  and  before  the  fire  was  dis- 
covered, and  put  out,  the  corner  of  the  chest  was 
singed,  and  a  hole  burnt  in  the  blue  velvet  cushion 
that  lay  on  the  top.  Upon  this,  the  lords  had  caused 
the  chest  to  be  taken  down  again  into  the  vault,  and 
had  fastened  the  doors  with  many  locks  and  with 
seals.      The  castle  had  further  been  put  into  the 


1 93  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

charge  of  Ladislas  von  Gara.  the  queen's  cousin, 
and  Ban,  or  hereditary  commander,  of  the  border 
troops,  and  he  had  given  it  over  to  a  Burggraf,  or 
seneschal,  who  had  placed  his  bed  in  the  chamber 
where  was  the  door  leading  to  the  vaults. 

The  queen  removed  to  Komorn,  a  castle  higher 
up  the  Danube,  in  charge  of  her  faithful  cousin, 
Count  Ulric  of  Eily.  taking  with  her  her  little 
daughter  Elizabeth,  Helen  Kottenner,  and  two  other 
ladies.  This  was  the  first  stage  on  the  journey  to 
Presburg,  where  the  nobles  had  wished  to  lodge  the 
queen,  and  from  thence  she  sent  back  Helen  to 
bring  the  rest  of  the  maids  of  honor  and  her  goods 
to  join  her  at  Komorn.  It  was  early  spring,  and 
snow  was  still  on  the  ground,  and  the  Lady  of  Kot- 
tenner and  her  faithful  nameless  assistant  travelled 
in  a  sledge ;  but  two  Hungarian  noblemen  went 
with  them,  and  they  had  to  be  most  careful  in  con- 
cealing their  arrangements.  Helen  had  with  her 
the  queen's  signet,  and  keys  ;  and  her  friend  had  a 
file  in  each  shoe,  and  keys  under  his  black  velvet 
dress. 

On  arriving  in  the  evening,  they  found  that  the 
Burggraf  had  fallen  ill,  and  could  not  sleep  in  the 
chamber  leading  to  the  vault,  because  it  belonged  to 
the  ladies'  chambers,  and  that  he  had  therefore  put 
a  cloth  over  the  paddock  of  the  door  and  sealed  it 
There  was  a  stove  in  the  room,  and  the  maidens  be- 
gan to  pack  up  their  clothes  there,  an  operation  that 
lasted  till  eight  o'clock  ;  while  Helen's  friend  stood 
there,  talking  and  jesting  with  them,  trying  all  the 
while  to  hide  the  files,  and  contriving  to  say  to 
Helen  :  "Take  care  that  we  have  a  light."  So  she 
begged  the  old  housekeeper  to  give  her  plenty  of 
wax  tapers,  as  she  had  many  prayers  to  say.  At 
last  every  one  was  gone  to  bed.  and  there  only  re- 
mained in  the  room  with  Helen,  an  old  woman, 
whom  she  had  brought  with  her.  who  knew  no  Ger- 


The  Crown  of  St.  Stephen.  199 

man,  and  was  fast  asleep.  Then  the  accomplice 
came  back  through  the  chapel,  which  opened  into 
this  same  hall.  He  had  on  his  black  velvet  gown 
and  felt  shoes  ;  and  was  followed  by  a  servant,  who, 
Helen  says,  was  bound  to  him  by  oath,  and  had  the 
same  Christian  name  as  himself,  this  being  evidently 
an  additional  bond  of  fidelity.  Helen,  who  had  re- 
ceived from  the  queen  all  the  keys  of  this  outer 
room,  let  them  in,  and,  after  the  Burggraf's  cloth 
and  seal  had  been  removed,  they  unlocked  the  pad- 
lock, and  the  other  two  locks  of  the  outer  door  of 
the  vault,  and  the  two  men  descended  into  it.  There 
were  several  other  doors,  whose  chains  required  to 
be  filed  through,  and  their  seals  and  locks  broken, 
and  to  the  ears  of  the  waiting  Helen  the  noise  ap- 
peared fatally  loud.  She  says  :  "I  devoutly  prayed 
to  God  and  the  Holy  Virgin,  that  they  would  sup- 
port and  help  me  ;  yet  I  was  in  greater  anxiety  for 
my  soul  than  for  my  life,  and  I  prayed  to  God 
that  He  would  be  merciful  to  my  soul,  and  rather  let 
me  die  at  once  there,  than  that  anything  should 
happen  against  His  will,  or  that  should  bring  misfor- 
tune on  my  country  and  people." 

She  fancied  she  heard  a  noise  of  armed  men  at 
the  chapel  door,  but  finding  nothing  there,  believed, 
—  not  in  her  own  nervous  agitation,  a  thing  not  yet 
invented,  —  that  it  was  a  spirit,  and  returning  to  her 
prayers,  vowed,  poor  lady,  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to 
St.  Maria  Zell,  in  Styria,  if  the  Holy  Virgin's  inter- 
cessions obtained  their  success,  and,  till  the  pilgrim- 
age could  be  made,  "  to  forego  every  Saturday  night 
my  feather  bed  !  "  After  another  false  alarm  at  a 
supposed  noise  at  the  maidens'  door,  she  ventured 
into  the  vault  to  see  how  her  companions  were  get- 
ting on,  when  she  found  they  had  filed  away  all  the 
locks,  except  that  of  the  case  containing  the  crown, 
and  this  they  were  obliged  to  burn,  in  spite  of  their 
apprehension  that  the  smell  and  smoke  might  be 


200  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

observed.  They  then  shut  up  the  chest,  replaced 
the  padlocks  and  chains  with  those  they  had  brought 
for  the  purpose,  and  renewed  the  seals  with  the 
queen's  signet,  which,  bearing  the  royal  arms,  would 
baffle  detection  that  the  seals  had  been  tampered 
with.  They  then  took  the  crown  into  the  chapel, 
where  they  found  a  red  velvet  cushion,  so  large  that, 
by  taking  out  some  of  the  stuffing,  a  hiding-place 
was  made  in  which  the  crown  was  deposited,  and 
the  cushion  sewn  up  over  it. 

By  this  time  day  was  dawning,  the  maidens  were 
dressing,  and  it  was  the  hour  for  setting  off  for  Ko- 
morn.  The  old  woman  who  had  waited  on  them 
came  to  the  Lady  of  Kottenner  to  have  her  wages 
paid,  and  be  dismissed  to  Buda.  While  she  was 
waiting,  she  began  to  remark  on  a  strange  thing  ly- 
ing by  the  stove,  which,  to  the  Lady  Helen's  great 
dismay,  she  perceived  to  be  a  bit  of  the  case  in 
which  the  crown  was  kept.  She  tried  to  prevent 
the  old  woman  from  noticing  it,  pushed  it  into  the 
hottest  part  of  the  stove,  and,  by  way  of  further  pre- 
caution, took  the  old  woman  away  with  her,  on  the 
plea  of  asking  the  queen  to  make  her  a  bedeswo- 
man  at  Vienna,  and  this  was  granted  to  her. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  gentleman  desired  his 
servant  to  take  the  cushion  and  put  it  into  the 
sledge  designed  for  himself  and  the  Lady  of  Kotten- 
ner. The  man  took  it  on  his  shoulders,  hiding  it 
under  an  old  ox-hide,  with  the  tail  hanging  down,  to 
the  laughter  of  all  beholders.  Helen  further  records 
the  trying  to  get  some  breakfast  in  the  market-place 
and  finding  nothing  but  herrings  ;  also  the  going  to 
mass,  and  the  care  she  took  not  to  sit  upon  the  holy 
crown,  though  she  had  to  sit  on  its  cushion  in  the 
sledge.  They  dined  at  an  inn,  but  took  care  to  keep 
the  cushion  in  sight,  and  then  in  the  dusk  crossed 
the  Danube  on  the  ice,  which  was  becoming  very 
thin,  and  half-way  across  it  broke  under  the  maid- 


The  Crown  of  St.  Stephen.  201 

ens'  carriage,  so  that  Helen  expected  to  be  lost  in 
the  Danube,  crown  and  all.  However,  though  many- 
packages  were  lost  under  the  ice,  her  sledge  got  safe 
over,  as  well  as  all  the  ladies,  some  of  whom  she 
took  into  her  conveyance,  and  all  safely  arrived  at 
the  castle  of  Komorn  late  in  the  evening. 

The  very  hour  of  their  arrival  a  babe  was  born  to 
the  queen,  and  to  her  exceeding  joy  it  was  a  son. 
Count  von  Eily,  hearing  "  that  a  king  and  friend 
was  born  to  him,"  had  bonfires  lighted,  and  a  torch- 
light procession  on  the  ice  that  same  night,  and 
early  in  the  morning  came  the  Archbishop  of  Gran 
to  christen  the  child.  The  queen  wished  her  faith- 
ful Helen  to  be  godmother,  but  she  refused  in  favor 
of  some  lady  whose  family  it  was  probably  needful 
to  propitiate.  She  took  oft  the  little  princess  Eliza- 
beth's mourning  for  her  father  and  dressed  her  in 
red  and  gold,  all  the  maidens  appeared  in  gay  ap- 
parel, and  there  was  great  rejoicing  and  thanksgiv- 
ing when  the  babe  was  christened  Ladislas,  after  a 
sainted  king  of  Hungary. 

The  peril  was,  however,  far  from  ended  ;  for  many 
of  the  Magyars  had  no  notion  of  accepting  an  infant 
for  their  king,  and  by  Easter  the  king  of  Poland 
was  advancing  upon  Buda  to  claim  the  realm  to 
which  he  had  been  invited.  No  one  had  discovered 
the  abstraction  of  the  crown,  and  Elizabeth's  object 
was  to  take  her  child  to  Weissenburg,  and  there 
have  him  crowned,  so  as  to  disconcert  the  Polish 
party.  She  had  sent  to  Buda  for  cloth  of  gold  to 
make  him  a  coronation  dress,  but  it  did  not  come 
in  time,  and  Helen  therefore  shut  herself  into  the 
chapel  at  Komorn,  and,  with  doors  fast  bolted,  cut 
up  a  rich  and  beautiful  vestment  of  his  grandfather's, 
the  Emperor  Sigismund,  of  red  and  gold,  with  silver 
spots,  and  made  it  into  a  tiny  .coronation  robe,  with 
surplice  and  humeral  (or  shoulder  piece),  the  stole 
and  banner,  the  gloves  and  shoes.     The  queen  was 


202  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

much  alarmed  by  a  report  that  the  Polish  party  meant 
to  stop  her  on  her  way  to  Weissenburg  ;  and  if  the 
baggage  should  be  seized  and  searched,  the  discov- 
ery of  the  crown  might  have  fatal  consequences. 
Helen,  on  this,  observed  that  the  king  was  more  im- 
portant than  the  crown,  and  that  the  best  way  would 
be  to  keep  them  together  ;  so  she  wrapped  up  the 
crown  in  a  cloth,  and  hid  it  under  the  mattress  of 
his  cradle,  with  a  long  spoon  for  mixing  his  pap  up- 
on the  top,  so,  said  the  queen,  he  might  take  care 
of  his  crown  himself. 

On  Tuesday  before  Whitsunday  the  party  set 
out,  escorted  by  Count  Ulric,  and  several  other 
knights  and  nobles.  After  crossing  the  Danube  in 
a  large  boat,  the  queen  and  her  little  girl  were 
placed  in  a  carriage,  or  more  probably  a  litter,  the 
other  ladies  rode,  and  the  cradle  and  its  precious 
contents  were  carried  by  four  men  ;  but  this  the 
poor  little  Lassla,  as  Helen  shortens  his  lengthy 
name,  resented  so  much,  that  he  began  to  scream  so 
loud  that  she  was  forced  to  dismount  and  carry  him 
in  her  arms,  along  a  road  rendered  swampy  by  much 
rain. 

They  found  all  the  villages  deserted  by  the  peas- 
ants, who  had  fled  into  the  woods,  and  as  most  of 
their  lords  were  of  the  other  party,  they  expected  an 
attack,  so  the  little  king  was  put  into  the  carriage 
with  his  mother  and  sister,  and  the  ladies  formed  a 
circle  round  it  "  that  if  any  one  shot  at  the  carriage 
we  might  receive  the  stroke."  When  the  danger 
was  over  the  child  was  taken  out  again,  for  he  would 
be  content  nowhere  but  in  the  arms  of  either  his 
nurse  or  of  faithful  Helen,  who  took  turns  to  carry 
him  on  foot  nearly  all  the  way,  sometimes  in  a  high 
wind  which  covered  them  with  dust,  sometimes  in 
great  heat,  sometimes  in  rain  so  heavy  that  Helen's 
fur  pelisse,  with  which  she  covered  his  cradle,  had 
to  be  wrung  out  several  times.     They  slept  at  an 


The  Crown  of  St.  Stephen.  203 

inn,  round  which  the  gentlemen  lighted  a  circle  of 
fires,  and  kept  watch  all  night. 

Weissenburg  was  loyal,  five  hundred  armed  gen- 
tlemen came  out  to  meet  them,  and  on  Whitsun-eve 
they  entered  the  city,  Helen  carrying  her  little  king 
in  her  arms  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of  these  five 
hundred  holding  their  naked  swords  aloft.  On  Whit- 
sunday, Helen  rose  early,  bathed  the  little  fellow, 
who  was  twelve  weeks  old  that  day,  and  dressed 
him.  He  was  then  carried  in  her  arms  to  the 
church,  beside  his  mother.  According  to  the  old 
Hungarian  customs,  the  choir  door  was  closed,  — 
the  burghers  were  within,  and  would  not  open  till 
the  new  monarch  should  have  taken  the  great  coro- 
nation oath  to  respect  the  Hungarian  liberties  and 
laws. 

This  oath  was  taken  by  the  queen  in  the  name  of 
her  son,  the  doors  were  opened,  and  all  the  train  en- 
tered, the  little  princess  being  lifted  up  to  stand  by 
the  organ,  lest  she  should  be  hurt  in  the  throng. 
First  Helen  held  her  charge  up  to  be  confirmed,  and 
then  she  had  to  hold  him  while  he  was  knighted 
with  a  richly-adorned  sword  bearing  the  motto  "  In- 
destructible," and  by  a  stout  Hungarian  knight, 
called  Mikosch  Weida,  who  struck  with  such  a  good 
will  that  Helen  felt  the  blow  on  her  arm,  and  the 
queen  cried  out  to  him  not  to  hurt  the  child. 

The  Archbishop  of  Gran  anointed  the  little  crea- 
ture, dressed  him  in  the  red  and  gold  robe,  and  put 
on  his  head  the  holy  crown,  and  the  people  admired 
to  see  how  straight  he  held  up  his  neck  under  it ; 
indeed  they  admired  the  loudness  and  strength  of  his 
cries,  when,  as  the  good  lady  records,  "  the  noble 
king  had  little  pleasure  in  his  coronation  for  he 
wept  aloud."  She  had  to  hold  him  up  for  the  rest 
of  the  service,  while  Count  Ulric  of  Eily  held  the 
crown  over  his  head,  and  afterwards  to  seat  him  in 
a  chair  in  St.  Peter's  Church,  and  then  he  was  car- 


204  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

ried  home  in  his  cradle,  with  the  count  holding  the 
crown  over  his  head,  and  the  other  regalia  borne 
before  him. 

And  thus  Ladislas  became  king  of  Hungary  at 
twelve  weeks  old,  and  was  then  carried  off  by  his 
mother  into  Austria  for  safety.  Whether  this  se- 
cret robbery  of  the  crown,  and  coronation  by  stealth, 
was  wise  or  just  on  the  mother's  part  is  a  question 
not  easy  of  answer,  —  though  of  course  she  deemed 
it  her  duty  to  do  her  utmost  for  her  child's  rights. 
Of  Helen  Kottenner's  deep  fidelity  and  conscientious 
feeling  there  can  be  no  doubt,  and  her  having  acted 
with  her  eyes  fully  open  to  the  risk  she  ran,  her 
trust  in  Heaven  overcoming  her  fears  and  terrors, 
rendered  her  truly  a  heroine. 

The  crown  has  had  many  other  adventures,  and 
afterwards  was  kept  in  an  apartment  of  its  own,  in 
the  castle  of  Ofen,  with  an  antechamber  guarded  by 
two  grenadiers.  The  door  was  of  iron,  with  three 
locks,  and  the  crown  itself  was  contained  in  an  iron 
chest  with  five  seals.  All  this,  however,  did  not 
prevent  it  from  being  taken  away  and  lost  in  the 
Revolution  of  1849. 


GEORGE   THE   TRILLER. 

1455- 
I. 

"  "\  T  THY,  lady  dear,  so  sad  of  cheer  ? 

V  V     Hast  waked  the  livelong  night  ? 
"  My  dreams  foreshow  my  children's  woe, 
Ernst  bold  and  Albrecht  bright. 

"  From  the  dark  glades  of  forest  shades 

There  rushed  a  raging  boar, 
Two  sapling  oaks  with  cruel  strokes 

His  crooked  tusks  uptore." 

"  Ah,  lady  dear,  dismiss  thy  fear 
Of  phantoms  haunting  sleep  !  " 

"  The  giant  knight,  Sir  Konrad  hight, 
Hath  vowed  a  vengeance  deep. 

"  My  lord,  o'erbold,  hath  kept  his  gold, 
And  scornful  answer  spake  :  — 

'  Kunz,  wisdom  learn,  nor  strive  to  burn 
The  fish  within  their  lake.' 

"  See,  o'er  the  plain,  with  all  his  train, 

My  lord  to  Leipzig  riding  ; 
Some  danger  near  my  children  dear 

My  dream  is  sure  betiding." 

"  The  warder  waits  before  the  gates, 

The  castle  rock  is  steep, 
The  massive  walls  protect  the  halls, 

Thy  children  safely  sleep." 


2o6  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 


II. 

'T  is  night's  full  noon,  fair  shines  the  moon 

On  Altenburg's  old  halls, 
The  silver  beams  in  tranquil  streams 

Rest  on  the  ivied  walls. 

Within  their  tower  the  midnight  hour 
Has  wrapt  the  babes  in  sleep, 

With  unclosed  eyes  their  mother  lies 
To  listen  and  to  weep. 

What  sudden  sound  is  stirring  round  ? 

What  clang  thrills  on  her  ear  ? 
Is  it  the  breeze  amid  the  trees 

Re-echoing  her  fear  ? 

Swift  from  her  bed,  in  sudden  dread, 

She  to  her  lattice  flies  : 
Oh  !  sight  of  woe,  from  far  below 

Behold  a  ladder  rise  : 

And  from  yon  tower,  her  children's  bower, 

Lo  !  giant  Kunz  descending  ! 
Ernst,  in  his  clasp  of  iron  grasp, 

His  cries  with  hers  is  blending. 

"  Oh  !  hear  my  prayer,  my  children  spare, 

The  sum  shall  be  restored  ; 
Nay,  twenty-fold  returned  the  gold, 

Thou  know'st  how  true  my  lord." 

With  mocking  grace  he  bowed  his  face  : 

"  Lady,  my  greetings  take  ; 
Thy  lord  may  learn  how  I  can  burn 

The  fish  within  their  lake." 

Oh  !  double  fright,  a  second  knight 

Upon  the  ladder  frail, 
And  in  his  arm,  with  wild  alarm, 

A  child  uplifts  his  wail  ! 


George  the  Triller.  207 

Would  she  had  wings  !     She  wildly  springs 

To  rouse  her  slumbering  train  ; 
Bolted  without  her  door  so  stout 

Resists  her  efforts  vain  ! 

No  mortal  ear  her  calls  can  hear, 

The  robbers  laugh  below  ; 
Her  God  alone  may  hear  her  moan, 

Or  mark  her  hour  of  woe. 

A  cry  below,  "  Oh  !  let  me  go, 

I  am  no  prince's  brother  ; 
Their  playmate  I  —  Oh  !  hear  my  cry, 

Restore  me  to  my  mother  !  " 

With  anguish  sore  she  shakes  the  door  ; 

Once  more  Sir  Kunz  is  rearing 
His  giant  head.     His  errand  sped 

She  sees  him  reappearing. 

Her  second  child  in  terror  wild 

Is  struggling  in  his  hold  ; 
Entreaties  vain  she  pours  again, 

Still  laughs  the  robber  bold. 

"  I  greet  thee  well,  the  Elector  tell 

How  Kunz  his  counsel  takes, 
And  let  him  learn  that  I  can  burn 

The  fish  within  their  lakes." 


III. 

"  Swift,  swift,  good  steed,  death  's  on  thy  speed, 

Gain  Isenburg  ere  morn  ; 
Though  far  the  way,  there  lodged  our  prey, 

We  laugh  the  Prince  to  scorn. 

"  There  Konrad's  den  and  merry  men 

Will  safely  hold  the  boys,  — 
The  Prince  shall  grieve  long  ere  we  leave 

Our  hold  upon  his  joys. 


20  8  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

"  But  hark  !  but  hark  !  how  through  the  dark 

The  castle  bell  is  tolling, 
From  tower  and  town,  o'er  wood  and  down, 

The  like  alarm  notes  rolling. 

"  The  peal  rings  out !  echoes  the  shout ! 

All  Saxony  's  astir  ; 
Groom,  turn  aside,  swift  must  we  ride 

Through  the  lone  wood  of  fir." 

Far  on  before,  of  men  a  score 
Prince  Ernest  bore  still  sleeping  ; 

Thundering  as  fast,  Kunz  came  the  last, 
Carrying  young  Albrecht  weeping. 

The  clanging  bell  with  distant  swell 

Dies  on  the  morning  air, 
Bohemia's  ground  another  bound 

Will  reach,  and  safety  there. 

The  morn's  fresh  beam  lights  a  cool  stream, 
Charger  and  knight  are  weary, 

He  draws  his  rein,  the  child's  sad  plain 
He  meets  with  accents  cheery. 

"  Sir  Konrad  good,  be  mild  of  mood, 

A  fearsome  giant  thou  ! 
For  love  of  heaven,  one  drop  be  given 

To  cool  my  throbbing  brow  !  " 

Kunz'  savage  heart  feels  pity's  smart, 
He  soothes  the  worn-out  child, 

Bathes  his  hot  cheeks,  and  bending  seeks 
For  woodland  berries  wild. 

A  deep-toned  bark  !     A  figure  dark, 
Smoke-grimed  and  sun-embrowned, 

Comes  through  the  wood  in  wondering  mood, 
And  by  his  side  a  hound. 

"  Oh,  to  my  aid,  I  am  betrayed, 
The  Elector's  son  forlorn, 


George  the  Triller.  209 

From  out  my  bed  these  men  of  dread 
Have  this  night  hither  borne  !  " 

"  Peace,  if  thou  'rt  wise,"  the  false  groom  cries, 

And  aims  a  murderous  blow  ; 
His  pole-axe  long,  his  arm  so  strong, 

Must  lay  young  Albrecht  low. 

See,  turned  aside,  the  weapon  glide 

The  woodman's  pole  along, 
To  Albrecht's  clasp  his  friendly  grasp 

Pledges  redress  from  wrong. 

Loud  the  hound's  note  as  at  the  throat 

Of  the  false  groom  he  flies  ; 
Back  at  the  sounds  Sir  Konrad  bounds  : 

"  Off  hands,  base  churl,"  he  cries. 

The  robber  lord  with  mighty  sword, 

Mailed  limbs  of  giant  strength,  — 
The  woodman  stout,  all  arms  without, 

Save  his  pole's  timber  length,  — 

Unequal  fight !     Yet  for  the  right 

The  woodman  holds  the  field  ; 
Now  left,  now  right,  repels  the  knight, 

His  pole  full  stoutly  wields. 

"  His  whistle  clear  rings  full  of  cheer, 

And  lo  !  his  comrades  true, 
All  swarth  and  lusty,  with  fire  poles  trusty, 

Burst  on  Sir  Konrad's  view. 

His  horse's  rein  he  grasps  amain 

Into  his  selle  to  spring, 
His  gold-spurred  heel  his  stirrup's  steel 

Has  caught,  his  weapons  ring. 

His  frightened  steed  with  wildest  speed 

Careers  with  many  a  bound  ; 
Sir  Konrad's  heel  fast  holds  the  steel, 

His  head  is  on  the  ground. 
14 


2io  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

The  peasants  round  lift  from  the  ground 

His  form  in  woful  plight, 
To  convent-cell,  for  keeping  well, 

Bear  back  the  robber  knight. 

"  Our  dear  young  lord,  what  may  afford 

A  charcoal-burner's  store 
We  freely  spread,  milk,  honey,  bread, 

Our  heated  kiln  before  !  " 


IV. 

Three  mournful  days  the  mother  pravs, 

And  weeps  the  children's  fate  ; 
The  prince  in  vain  has  scoured  the  plain,  — 

A  sound  is  at  the  gate. 

The  mother  hears,  her  head  she  rears, 

She  lifts  her  eager  finger,  — 
"  Rejoice,  rejoice,  'tis  Albrecht's  voice. 

Open  !     O,  wherefore  linger  ? " 

See,  cap  in  hand  the  woodman  stand,  — 

Mother,  no  more  of  weeping,  — 
His  hound  well  tried  is  at  his  side, 

Before  him  Albrecht,  leaping, 

Cries,  "  Father  dear,  my  friend  is  here  ! 

My  mother  !     O,  my  mother  ! 
The  giant  knight  he  put  to  flight, 

The  good  dog  tore  the  other." 

Oh  !  who  the  joy  that  greets  the  boy, 

Or  who  the  thanks  may  tell, 
Or  how  they  hail  the  woodman's  tale, 

How  he  had  "  trilled*  him  well !  " 

"  I  trilled  him  well,"  he  still  will  tell 
In  homely  phrase  his  story, 

*   Trillen,  to  shake  ;   a  word  analogous  to  our  trill,  to  shake  the 
voice  in  singing. 


George  the  Triller. 

To  those  who  sought  to  know  how  wrought 
An  unarmed  hand  such  glory. 

That  mother  sad  again  is  glad, 

Her  home  no  more  bereft ; 
For  news  is  brought  Ernst  may  be  sought 

Within  the  Devil's  Cleft. 

That  cave  within,  these  men  of  sin 

Had  learnt  their  leader's  fall, 
The  prince  to  sell  they  proffered  well 

At  price  of  grace  to  all. 

Another  day,  and  Ernest  lay 

Safe  on  his  mother's  breast : 
Thus  to  her  sorrow  a  gladsome  morrow 

Had  brought  her  joy  and  rest. 

The  giant  knight  was  judged  aright, 

Sentenced  to  death  he  lay  ; 
The  Elector  mild,  since  safe  his  child, 

Sent  forth  the  doom  to  stay. 

But  all  too  late,  and  o'er  the  gate 

Of  Freiburg's  council  hall 
Sir  Konrad's  head,  with  features  dread, 

The  traitor's  eyes  appal. 

The  scullion  Hans  who  wrought  their  plans, 

And  oped  the  window  grate, 
Whose  faith  was  sold  for  Konrad's  gold, 

He  met  a  traitor's  fate. 


V. 

Behold  how  gay  the  wood  to-day, 

The  little  church  how  fair, 
What  banners  wave,  what  tapestry  brave, 

Covers  its  carvings  rare  ! 

A  goodly  train,  —  the  parents  twain, 
And  here  the  princes  two, 


212  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Here  with  his  pole,  George,  stout  of  soul, 
And  all  his  comrades  true. 

High  swells  the  chant,  all  jubilant, 

And  each  boy  bending  low, 
Humbly  lays  down  the  wrapping-gown 

He  wore  the  night  of  woe. 

Beside  them  lay  a  smock  of  gray, 
All  grimed  with  blood  and  smoke  ; 

A  thankful  sign  to  Heaven  benign, 
That  spared  the  sapling  oak. 

"  What  prize  wouldst  hold,  thou  '  Triller  bold, 

Who  trilled  well  for  my  son  ?  " 
"  Leave  to  cut  wood,  my  lord,  so  good, 

Near  where  the  fight  was  won." 

"  Nay,  Triller  mine,  the  land  be  thine, 

My  trusty  giant-killer, 
A  farm  and  house  I  and  my  spouse 

Grant  free  to  George  the  Triller  !  " 

Years  hundred  four,  and  half  a  score, 
Those  robes  have  held  their  place  ; 

The  Triller's  deed  has  grateful  meed 
From  Albrecht's  roval  race. 


The  child  rescued  by  George  the  Triller's  Gold- 
en Deed  was  the  ancestor  of  the  late  Prince  Con- 
sort, and  thus  of  our  future  line  of  kings.  He  was 
the  son  of  the  Elector  Friedrich  the  Mild  of  Sax- 
ony, and  of  Margarethe  of  Austria,  whose  dream 
presaged  her  children's  danger.  The  Elector  had 
incurred  the  vengeance  of  the  robber  baron,  Sir 
Konrad  of  Kauffingen,  who,  from  his  huge  stature, 
was  known  as  the  Giant  Ritter,  by  refusing  to  make 
up  to  him  the  sum  of  4000  gulden  which  he  had 
had  to  pay  for  his  ransom  after  being  made  pris- 
oner  in    the    Elector's    service.      In    reply    to    his 


George  the  Triller.  213 

threats,  all  the  answer  that  the  robber  knight  re- 
ceived was  the  proverbial  one,  "  Do  not  try  to  burn 
the  fish  in  the  ponds,  Kunz." 

Stung  by  the  irony,  Kunz  bribed  the  Elector's 
scullion,  by  name  Hans  Schwabe,  to  admit  him  and 
nine  chosen  comrades  into  the  castle  of  Altenburg 
on  the  night  of  the  7th  of  July,  1455,  when  the  Elec- 
tor was  to  be  at  Leipzig.  Strange  to  say,  this  scul- 
lion was  able  to  write,  for  a  letter  is  extant  from 
him  to  Sir  Konrad,  engaging  to  open  the  window 
immediately  above  the  steep  precipice,  which  on 
that  side  was  deemed  a  sufficient  protection  to  the 
castle,  and  to  fasten  a  rope-ladder  by  which  to  as- 
cend the  crags.  This  window  can  still  be  traced, 
though  thenceforth  it  was  bricked  up.  It  gave  ac- 
cess to  the  children's  apartments,  and  on  his  way 
to  them,  the  robber  drew  the  bolt  of  their  mother's 
door,  so  that  though,  awakened  by  the  noise,  she 
rushed  to  her  window,  she  was  a  captive  in  her  own 
apartment,  and  could  not  give  the  alarm,  nor  do 
anything  but  join  her  vain  entreaties  to  the  cries  of 
her  helpless  children.  It  was  the  little  son  of  the 
Count  von  Bardi  whom  Wilhelm  von  Mosen 
brought  down  by  mistake  for  young  Albrecht,  and 
Kunz,  while  hurrying  up  to  exchange  the  children, 
bade  the  rest  of  his  band  hasten  on  to  secure  the 
elder  prince  without  waiting  for  him.  He  followed 
in  a  few  seconds  with  Albrecht  in  his  arms,  and  his 
servant  Schweinitz  riding  after  him,  but  he  never 
overtook  the  main  body.  Their  object  was  to  reach 
Konrad's  own  castle  of  Isenburg  on  the  frontiers 
of  Bohemia,  but  they  quickly  heard  the  alarm-bells 
ringing,  and  beheld  beacons  lighted  upon  every  hill. 
They  were  forced  to  betake  themselves  to  the  for- 
ests, and  about  half-way,  Prince  Ernst's  captors, 
not  daring  to  go  any  further,  hid  themselves  and 
him  in  a  cavern  called  the  Devil's  Cleft,  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  river  Mulde. 


214  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Kunz  himself  rode  on  till  the  sun  had  risen,  and 
he  was  within  so  few  miles  of  his  castle  that  the 
terror  of  his  name  was  likely  to  be  a  sufficient  pro- 
tection. Himself  and  his  horse  were,  however, 
spent  by  the  wild  midnight  ride,  and  on  the  border 
of  the  wood  of  Eterlein,  near  the  monastery  of 
Griinheim,  he  halted,  and  finding  the  poor  child 
grievously  exhausted  and  feverish,  he  lifted  him 
clown,  gave  him  water,  and  went  himself  in  search 
of  wood-strawberries  for  his  refreshment,  leaving 
the  two  horses  in  the  charge  of  Schweinitz.  The 
servant  dozed  in  his  saddle,  and  meanwhile  the 
charcoal-burner,  George  Schmidt,  attracted  by  the 
sounds,  came  out  of  the  wood,  where  all  night  he 
had  been  attending  to  the  kiln,  hollowed  in  the 
earth,  and  heaped  with  earth  and  roots  of  trees, 
where  a  continual  charring  of  wood  was  going  on. 
Little  Albrecht  no  sooner  saw  this  man  than  he 
sprang  to  him,  and  telling  his  name  and  rank,  en- 
treated to  be  rescued  from  these  cruel  men.  The 
servant  awaking,  leapt  down  and  struck  a  deadly 
blow  at  the  boy's  head  with  his  pole-axe,  but  it  was 
parried  by  the  chorcoal-burner,  who,  interposing 
with  one  hand  the  strong  wooden  pole  he  used  for 
stirring  his  kiln,  dragged  the  little  prince  aside  with 
the  other,  and  at  the  same  time  set  his  great  dog 
upon  the  servant.  Sir  Konrad  at  once  hurried 
back,  but  the  valiant  charcoal-burner  still  held  his 
ground,  dangerous  as  the  fight  was  between  the 
peasant  unarmed  except  for  the  long  pole,  and  the 
fully  accoutred  knight  of  gigantic  size  and  strength. 
However,  a  whistle  from  George  soon  brought  a 
gang  of  his  comrades  to  his  aid,  and  Kunz,  rinding 
himself  surrounded,  tried  to  leap  into  his  saddle, 
and  break  through  the  throng  by  weight  of  man  and 
horse,  but  his  spur  became  entangled,  the  horse  ran 
away,  and  he  was  dragged  along  with  his  head  on 
the  ground  till  he  was  taken  up  by  the  peasants  and 


George  the  Triller.  215 

carried  to  the  convent  of  Griinheim,  whence  he  was 
sent  to  Zwickau,  and  was  thence  transported  heavily 
ironed  to  Freiburg,  where  he  was  beheaded  on  the 
14th  of  July,  only  a  week  after  his  act  of  violence. 
The  Elector,  in  his  joy  at  the  recovery  of  even  one 
child,  was  generous  enough  to  send  a  pardon,  but 
the  messenger  reached  Freiburg  too  late,  and  a 
stone  in  the  market-place  still  marks  the  place  of 
doom,  while  the  grim  effigy  of  Sir  Konrad's  head 
grins  over  the  door  of  the  Rathhaus.  It  was  a  pity 
Friedrich's  mildness  did  not  extend  to  sparing  tor- 
ture as  well  as  death  to  his  treacherous  scullion,  but 
perhaps  a  servant's  power  of  injuring  his  master 
was  thought  a  reason  for  surrounding  such  instances 
of  betrayal  with  special  horrors. 

The  party  hidden  in  the  Devil's  Cleft  overheard 
the  peasants  in  the  wood  talking  of  the  fall  of  the 
Giant  of  Kauffingen,  and,  becoming  alarmed  for 
themselves,  they  sent  to  the  governor  of  the  neigh- 
boring castle  of  Hartenstein  to  offer  to  restore 
Prince  Ernst,  provided  they  were  promised  a  full 
pardon.  The  boy  had  been  given  up  as  dead,  and 
intense  were  the  rejoicings  of  the  parents  at  his 
restoration.  The  Devil's  Cleft  changed  its  name 
to  the  Prince's  Cleft,  and  the  tree  where  Albrecht 
had  lain  was  called  the  Prince's  Oak,  and  still  re- 
mains as  a  witness  to  the  story,  as  do  the  moth- 
eaten  garments  of  the  princely  children,  and  the 
smock  of  the  charcoal-burner,  which  they  offered 
up  in  token  of  thanksgiving  at  the  little  forest 
church  of  Ebersdorff,  near  the  scene  of  the  rescue. 

"  I  trillirt  the  knaves  right  well,"  was  honest 
George's  way  of  telling  the  story  of  his  exploit,  not 
only  a  brave  one,  but  amounting  even  to  self-devo- 
tion when  we  remember  that  the  robber  baron  was 
his  near  neighbor,  and  a  terror  to  all  around.  The 
word  Triller  took  the  place  of  his  surname,  and 
when  the  sole  reward  he  asked  was  leave  freely  to 


216 


A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 


cut  wood  in  the  forest,  the  Elector  gave  him  a  piece 
of  land  of  his  own  in  the  parish  of  Ebersbach.  In 
1855  there  was  a  grand  celebration  of  the  rescue  of 
the  Saxon  princes  on  the  9th  of  July,  the  four  hun- 
dredth anniversary,  with  a  great  procession  of  forest- 
ers and  charcoal-burners  to  the  "  Trillers  Brew- 
ery." which  stands  where  George*s  hut  and  kiln 
were  once  placed.  Three  of  his  descendants  then 
figured  in  the  procession,  but  since  that  time  all 
have  died,  and  the  family  of  the  Trillers  is  now- 
extinct. 


SIR   THOMAS    MORE'S    DAUGHTER. 


1535- 


WE  have  seen  how  dim  and  doubtful  was  the 
belief  that  upbore  the  grave  and  beautiful 
Antigone  in  her  self-sacrifice  ;  but  there  have  been 
women  who  have  been  as  brave  and  devoted  in  their 
care  for  the  mortal  remains  of  their  friends,  —  not 
from  the  heathen  fancy  that  the  weal  of  the  dead 
depended  on  such  rites,  but  from  their  earnest  love, 
and  with  a  fuller  trust  beyond. 

Such  was  the  spirit  of  Beatrix,  a  noble  maiden  of 
Rome,  who  shared  the  Christian  faith  of  her  two 
brothers,  Simplicius  and  Faustinus,  at  the  end  of 
the  third  century.  For  many  years  there  had  been 
no  persecution,  and  the  Christians  were  living  at 
peace,  worshipping  freely,  and  venturing  even  to 
raise  churches.  Young  people  had  grown  up  to 
whom  the  being  thrown  to  the  lions,  beheaded,  or 
burnt  for  the  faith's  sake,  was  but  a  story  of  the 
times  gone  by.  But  under  the  Emperor  Diocletian 
all  was  changed.  The  old  heathen  gods  must  be 
worshipped,  incense  must  be  burnt  to  the  statue  of 
the  Emperor,  or  torture  and  death  were  the  punish- 
ment. The  two  brothers  Simplicius  and  Faustinus 
were  thus  asked  to  deny  their  faith,  and  resolutely 
refused.  They  were  cruelly  tortured,  and  at  length 
beheaded,  and  their  bodies  thrown  into  the  tawny 
waters  of  the  Tiber.    Their  sister  Beatrix  had  taken 


218  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

refuge  with  a  poor  devout  Christian  woman,  named 
Lucina.  But  she  did  not  desert  her  brothers  in 
death  ;  she  made  her  way  in  secret  to  the  bank  of 
the  river,  watching  to  see  whether  the  stream  might 
bear  down  the  corpses  so  dear  to  her.  Driven  along, 
so  as  to  rest  upon  the  bank,  she  found  them  at  last, 
and,  by  the  help  of  Lucina,  she  laid  them  in  the 
grave  in  the  cemetery  called  Ad  Ursum  Pileatum. 
For  seven  months  she  remained  in  her  shelter,  but 
she  was  at  last  denounced,  and  was  brought  before 
the  tribunal,  where  she  made  answer  that  nothing 
should  induce  her  to  adore  gods  made  of  wood  and 
stone.  She  was  strangled  in  her  prison,  and  her 
corpse  being  cast  out,  was  taken  home  by  Lucina, 
and  buried  beside  her  brothers.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
favorite  charitable  work  of  the  Christian  widows  at 
Rome  to  provide  for  the  burial  of  the  martyrs  ;  and 
as  for  the  most  part  they  were  poor  old  obscure 
women,  they  could  perform  this  good  work  with  far 
less  notice  than  could  persons  of  more  mark. 

But  nearer  home,  our  own  country  shows  a  truly 
Christian  Antigone,  resembling  the  Greek  lady, 
both  in  her  dutifulness  to  the  living,  and  in  her  ten- 
der care  for  the  dead.  This  was  Margaret,  the  fa- 
vorite daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  the  true-heart- 
ed, faithful  statesman  of  King  Henry  VIII. 

Margaret's  home  had  been  an  exceedingly  happy 
one.  Her  father.  Sir  Thomas  More,  was  a  man  of 
the  utmost  worth,  and  was  both  earnestly  religious 
and  conscientious,  and  of  a  sweetness  of  manner 
and  playfulness  of  fancy  that  endeared  him  to  every 
one.  He  was  one  of  the  most  affectionate  and  du- 
tiful of  sons  to  his  aged  father.  Sir  John  More  ;  and 
when  the  son  was  Lord  Chancellor,  while  the  father 
was  only  a  judge,  Sir  Thomas,  on  his  way  to  his 
court,  never  failed  to  kneel  down  before  his  father  in 
public,  and  ask  his  blessing.  Xever  was  the  old 
saving,  that  a  dutiful  child  has  dutiful  children,  bet- 


Sir  Thomas  Move's  Daughter.  219 

ter  exemplified  than  in  the  More  family.  In  the 
times  when  it  was  usual  for  parents  to  be  very  stern 
with  children,  and  keep  them  at  a  great  distance, 
sometimes  making  them  stand  in  their  presence,  and 
striking  them  for  any  slight  offence,  Sir  Thomas 
More  thought  it  his  duty  to  be  friendly  and  affection- 
ate with  them,  to  talk  to  them,  and  to  enter  into 
their  confidence  ;  and  he  was  rewarded  with  their 
full  love  and  duty. 

He  had  four  children,  —  Margaret,  Elizabeth,  Cice- 
ly, and  John.  His  much-loved  wife  died  when  they 
were  all  very  young,  and  he  thought  it  for  their 
good  to  marry  a  widow,  Mrs.  Alice  Middleton,  with 
one  daughter  named  Margaret,  and  he  likewise 
adopted  an  orphan  called  Margaret  Giggs.  With 
this  household  he  lived  in  a  beautiful  large  house  at 
Chelsea,  with  well-trimmed  gardens  sloping  down 
to  the  Thames  ;  and  this  was  the  resort  of  the  most 
learned  and  able  men,  both  English  and  visitors 
from  abroad,  who  delighted  in  pacing  the  shady 
walks,  listening  to  the  wit  and  wisdom  of  Sir  Thom- 
as, or  conversing  with  the  daughters,  who  had  been 
highly  educated,  and  had  much  of  their  father's  hu- 
mor and  sprightliness.  Even  Henry  VIII.  himself, 
then  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  graceful  gentle- 
men of  his  time,  would  sometimes  arrive  in  his  roy- 
al barge,  and  talk  theology  or  astronomy  with  Sir 
Thomas  ;  or,  it  might  be,  crack  jests  with  him  and 
his  daughters,  or  listen  to  the  music  in  which  all 
were  skilled,  even  Lady  More  having  been  persuad- 
ed in  her  old  age  to  learn  to  play  on  various  instru- 
ments, including  the  flute.  The  daughters  were 
early  given  in  marriage,  and,  with  their  husbands, 
continued  to  live  under  their  father's  roof.  Marga- 
ret's husband  was  William  Roper,  a  young  lawyer, 
of  whom  Sir  Thomas  was  very  fond,  and  his  house- 
hold at  Chelsea  was  thus  a  large  and  joyous  family 
home  of  children  and  grandchildren,  delighting  in 


i22o  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

the  kind  bright  smiles  of  the  open  face  under  the 
square  cap,  that  the  great  painter  Holbein  has  sent 
down  to  us  as  a  familiar  sight. 

But  these  glad  days  were  not  to  last  for  ever.  The 
trying  times  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  were  be- 
ginning, and  the  question  had  been  stirred  whether 
the  king's  marriage  with  Katharine  of  Arragon  had 
been  a  lawful  one.  When  Sir  Thomas  More  found 
that  the  king  was  determined  to  take  his  own 
course,  and  to  divorce  himself  without  permission 
from  the  Pope,  it  was  against  his  conscience  to  re- 
main in  office  when  acts  were  being  done  which  he 
could  not  think  right  or  lawful.  He  therefore  re- 
signed his  office  as  Lord  Chancellor,  and,  feeling 
himself  free  from  the  load  and  temptation,  his  gay 
spirits  rose  higher  than  ever.  His  manner  of  com- 
municating the  change  to  his  wife,  who  had  been 
very  proud  of  his  state  and  dignity,  was  thus.  At 
church,  when  the  service  was  over,  it  had  always 
been  the  custom  for  one  of  his  attendants  to  sum- 
mon Lady  More  by  coming  to  her  closet  door,  and 
saying  "  Madam,  my  lord  is  gone."  On  the  day  af- 
ter his  resignation,  he  himself  stepped  up,  and  with 
a  low  bow  said,  "  Madam,  my  lord  is  gone,"  for  in 
good  sooth  he  was  no  longer  Chancellor,  but  only 
plain  Sir  Thomas. 

He  thoroughly  enjoyed  his  leisure,  but  he  was  not 
long  left  in  tranquillity.  When  Anne  Boleyn  was 
crowned,  he  was  invited  to  be  present,  and  twenty 
pounds  were  offered  him  to  buy  a  suitably  splendid 
dress  for  the  occasion  ;  but  his  conscience  would 
not  allow  him  to  accept  the  invitation,  though  he 
well  knew  the  terrible  peril  he  ran  by  offending  the 
king  and  queen.  Thenceforth  there  was  a  determi- 
nation to  ruin  him.  First,  he  was  accused  of  taking 
bribes  when  administering  justice.  It  was  said  that 
a  gilt  cup  had  been  given  to  him  as  a  new-year's 
gift,  by  one  lady,  and  a  pair  of  gloves  filled  with 


Sir  Thomas  Move's  Daughter.  221 

gold  coins  by  another :  but  it  turned  out,  on  examina- 
tion, that  he  had  drunk  the  wine  out  of  the  cup,  and 
accepted  the  gloves,  because  it  was  ill  manners  to 
refuse  a  lady's  gift,  yet  he  had  in  both  cases  given 
back  the  gold. 

Next,  a  charge  was  brought  that  he  had  been 
leaguing  with  a  half-crazy  woman  called  the  Nun  of 
Kent,  who  had  said  violent  things  about  the  king. 
He  was  sent  for  to  be  examined  by  Henry  and  his 
Council,  and  this  he  well  knew  was  the  interview 
on  which  his  safety  would  turn,  since  the  accusation 
was  a  mere  pretext,  and  the  real  purpose  of  the 
king  was  to  see  whether  he  would  go  along  with 
him  in  breaking  away  from  Rome,  —  a  proceeding 
that  Sir  Thomas,  both  as  churchman  and  as  lawyer, 
could  not  think  legal.  Whether  we  agree  or  not  in 
his  views,  it  must  always  be  remembered  that  he 
ran  into  danger  by  speaking  the  truth,  and  doing 
what  he  thought  right.  He  really  loved  his  master, 
and  he  knew  the  humor  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  the 
temptation  was  sore  ;  but  when  he  came  down  from 
his  conference  with  the  king  in  the  tower,  and  was 
rowed  down  the  river  to  Chelsea,  he  was  so  merry 
that  William  Roper,  who  had  been  waiting  for  him 
in  the  boat,  thought  he  must  be  safe,  and  said,  as 
they  landed  and  walked  up  the  garden,  — 

"  I  trust,  sir,  all  is  well,  since  you  are  so  merry  ?  " 
"  It  is  so,  indeed,  son,  thank  God  !  " 
"  Are  you  then,  sir,  put  out  of  the  bill  ?  " 
"  Wouldest  thou  know,  son,  why  I  am  so  joyful  ? 
In  good  faith  I  rejoice  that  I  have  given  the  devil  a 
foul  fall ;  because  I  have  with  those  lords  gone  so 
far  that  without  great  shame  I  can  never  go  back  ?  " 
he  answered,  meaning  that  he  had  been  enabled  to 
hold  so  firmly  to  his  opinions,  and  speak  them  out 
so  boldly,  that  henceforth  the  temptation  to  dissem- 
ble them  and  please  the  king  would  be  much  les- 
sened.    That  he  had  held  his  purpose  in  spite  of 


222  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

the  weakness  of  mortal  nature,  was  true  joy  to  him, 
though  he  was  so  well  aware  of  the  consequences 
that  when  his  daughter  Margaret  came  to  him  the 
next  day  with  the  glad  tidings  that  the  charge 
against  him  had  been  given  up,  he  calmly  answered 
her  :  "  In  faith,  Meg,  what  is  put  off  is  not  given  up." 

One  day,  when  he  had  asked  Margaret  how  the 
world  went  with  the  new  queen,  and  she  replied, 
"  In  faith,  father,  never  better  ;  there  is  nothing  else 
in  the  court  but  dancing  and  sporting,"  he  replied, 
with  sad  foresight,  "  Never  better.  Alas,  Meg  ! 
it  pitieth  me  to  remember  unto  what  misery,  poor 
soul,  she  will  shortly  come.  These  dances  of  hers 
will  prove  such  dances  that  she  will  spurn  off  our 
heads  like  footballs,  but  it  will  not  be  long  ere  her 
head  will  take  the  same  dance." 

So  entirely  did  he  expect  to  be  summoned  by  a 
pursuivant  that  he  thought  it  would  lessen  the  fright 
of  his  family  if  a  sham  summons  were  brought.  So 
he  caused  a  great  knocking  to  be  made  while  all 
were  at  dinner,  and  the  sham  pursuivant  went 
through  all  the  forms  of  citing  him,  and  the  whole 
household  were  in  much  alarm,  till  he  explained  the 
jest  ;  but  the  earnest  came  only  a  few  days  after- 
wards. On  the  13th  of  April,  1534,  arrived  the  real 
pursuivant  to  summon  him  to  Lambeth,  there  to  take 
the  oath  of  supremacy,  declaring  that  the  king  was 
the  head  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  that  the 
Pope  had  no  authority  there.  He  knew  what  the 
refusal  would  bring  on  him.  He  went  first  to  church, 
and  then,  not  trusting  himself  to  be  unmanned  by 
his  love  for  his  children  and  grandchildren,  instead 
of  letting  them,  as  usual,  come  down  to  the  water 
side,  with  tender  kisses  and  merry  farewells,  he  shut 
the  wicket-gate  of  the  garden  upon  them  all,  and 
only  allowed  his  son-in-law  Roper  to  accompany 
him,  whispering  into  his  ear,  "I  thank  our  Lord,  the 
field  is  won." 


Sir  Thomas  Mor^s  Daughter.  223 

Conscience  had  triumphed  over  affection,  and  he 
was  thankful,  though  for  the  last  time  he  looked  on 
the  trees  he  had  planted  and  the  happy  home  he  had 
loved.  Before  the  Council,  he  undertook  to  swear 
to  some  clauses  in  the  oath  which  were  connected 
with  the  safety  of  the  realm  ;  but  he  refused  to  take 
that  part  of  the  oath  which  related  to  the  king's 
power  over  the  Church.  It  is  said  that  the  king 
would  thus  have  been  satisfied,  but  that  the  queen 
urged  him  further.  At  any  rate,  after  being  four 
days  under  the  charge  of  the  Abbot  of  Westminster, 
Sir  Thomas  was  sent  to  the  Tower  of  London. 
There  his  wife  —  a  plain,  dull  woman,  utterly  unable 
to  understand  the  point  of  conscience  —  came  and 
scolded  him  for  being  so  foolish  as  to  lie  there  in  a 
close,  filthy  prison,  and  be  shut  up  with  rats  and 
mice,  instead  of  enjoying  the  favor  of  the  king.  He 
heard  all  she  had  to  say,  and  answered,  "  I  pray  thee, 
good  Mrs.  Alice,  tell  me  one  thing,  —  is  not  this 
house  as  near  heaven  as  my  own  ? "  To  which  she 
had  no  better  answer  than  "  Tilly  vally,  tilly  vally." 
But  in  spite  of  her  folly,  she  loved  him  faithfully  ; 
and  when  all  his  property  was  seized,  she  sold  even 
her  clothes  to  obtain  necessaries  for  him  in  prison. 

His  chief  comfort  was,  however,  in  visits  and  let- 
ters from  his  daughter  Margaret,  who  was  fully  able 
to  enter  into  the  spirit  that  preferred  death  to  trans- 
gression. He  was  tried  in  Westminster  Hall,  on 
the  1st  of  July,  and,  as  he  had  fully  expected,  sen- 
tenced to  death.  He  was  taken  back  along  the  river 
to  the  Tower.  On  the  wharf  his  loving  Margaret 
was  waiting  for  her  last  look.  She  broke  through 
the  guard  of  soldiers  with  bills  and  halberds,  threw 
her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him,  unable  to 
say  any  word  but  "  O,  my  father  !  —  O,  my  father  !  " 
He  blessed  her,  and  told  her  that  whatsoever  she 
might  suffer,  it  was  not  without  the  will  of  God,  and 
she  must  therefore  be  patient.     After  having  once 


224  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

parted  with  him,  she  suddenly  turned  back  again, 
ran  to  him,  and.  clinging  round  his  neck,  kissed  him 
over  and  over  again.  —  a  sight  at  which  the  guards 
themselves  wept.  She  never  saw  him  again  ;  but 
the  night  before  his  execution  he  wrote  to  her  a  let- 
ter with  a  piece  of  charcoal,  with  tender  remem- 
brances to  all  the  family,  and  saying  to  her,  "  I  never 
liked  your  manner  better  than  when  you  kissed  me 
last ;  for  I  am  most  pleased  when  daughterly  love 
and  dear  charity  have  no  leisure  to  look  to  worldly 
courtesy."  He  likewise  made  it  his  especial  request 
that  she  might  be  permitted  to  be  present  at  his 
burial. 

His  hope  was  sure  and  steadfast,  and  his  heart  so 
firm  that  he  did  not  even  cease  from  humorous  say- 
ings. When  he  mounted  the  crazy  ladder  of  the 
scaffold  he  said.  "  Master  Lieutenant,  I  pray  you  see 
me  safe  up  ;  and  for  my  coming  down  let  me  shift 
for  myself."  And  he  desired  the  executioner  to 
give  him  time  to  put  his  beard  out  of  the  way  of  the 
stroke,  "  since  that  had  never  offended  his  High- 
ness." 

His  body  was  given  to  his  family,  and  laid  in  the 
tomb  he  had  already  prepared  in  Chelsea  church  ; 
but  the  head  was  set  up  on  a  pole  on  London  Bridge. 
The  calm,  sweet  features  were  little  changed,  and 
the  loving  daughter  gathered  courage  as  she  looked 
up  at  them.  How  she  contrived  the  deed,  is  not 
known  ;  but.  before  many  days  had  past,  the  head 
was  no  longer  there,  and  Mrs.  Roper  was  said  to 
have  taken  it  awav.  She  was  sent  for  to  the  Coun- 
cil, and  accused  of  the  stealing  of  her  father's  head. 
She  shrank  not  from  avowing  that  thus  it  had  been, 
and  that  the  head  was  in  her  own  possession.  One 
story  says  that,  as  she  was  passing  under  the  bridge 
in  a  boat,  she  looked  up.  and  said.  "  That  head  has 
often  lain  in  my  lap  :  I  would  that  it  would  now  fall 
into  it."     And  at  that  moment  it  actually  fell,  and 


Sir  Thomas  Move's  Daughter.  225 

she  received  it.  It  is  far  more  likely  that  she  went 
by  design,  and  at  the  same  time  as  some  faithful 
friend  on  the  bridge,  who  detached  the  precious 
head,  and  dropped  it  down  to  her  in  the  boat  be- 
neath. Be  this  as  it  may,  she  owned  before  the 
cruel-hearted  Council  that  she  had  taken  away  and 
cherished  the  head  of  the  man  whom  they  had  slain 
as  a  traitor.  However,  Henry  VIII.  was  not  a 
Creon,  and  our  Christian  Antigone  was  dismissed 
unhurt  by  the  Council,  and  allowed  to  retain  posses- 
sion of  her  treasure.  She  caused  it  to  be  embalmed, 
kept  it  with  her  wherever  she  went,  and  when,  nine 
years  afterwards,  she  died  (in  the  year  1544),  it  was 
laid  in  her  coffin  in  the  "  Roper  aisle  "  of  St.  Duns- 
tan's  church,  at  Canterbury. 


UNDER    IVAN    THE    TERRIBLE. 
1564. 


PRINCE  AXDREJ  KOURBSKY  was  one  of 
the  chief  boyards  or  nobles  at  the  Court  of 
Ivan,  the  first  Grand  Prince  of  Muscovy  who  as- 
sumed the  Eastern  title  of  Tzar,  and  who  relieved 
Russia  from  the  terrible  invasions  of  the  Tatars. 
This  wild  race  for  nearly  four  hundred  years  had 
roamed  over  the  country,  destroying  and  plundering 
all  they  met  with,  and  blighting  all  the  attempts  at 
civilization  that  had  begun  to  be  made  in  the  eleventh 
century.  It  was  only  when  the  Russians  learnt  the 
use  of  hre-arms  that  these  savages  were  in  any  de- 
gree repressed.  In  the  year  1551  the  city  of  Kazan, 
upon  the  river  Kazanka.  a  tributary  of  the  Volga, 
was  the  last  city  that  remained  in  the  hands  of  the 
Tatars.  It  was  a  rich  and  powerful  place,  a  great 
centre  of  trade  between  Europe  and  the  East,  but 
it  was  also  a  nest  of  robbers,  who  had  frequently 
broken  faith  with  the  Russians,  and  had  lately  ex- 
pelled the  Khan  Schig  Alei  for  having  endeavored 
to  fulfil  his  engagements  to  them.  The  Tzar  Ivan 
Vassilovitch.  then  only  twenty-two  years  of  age, 
therefore  marched  against  the  place,  resolved  at  any 
cost  to  reduce  it  and  free  his  country  from  these 
inveterate  foes. 

On  his  way  he  received  tidings  that  the  Crimean 
Tatars  had  come  plundering  into  Russia,  probably 


Under  Ivan  the  Terrible.  227 

thinking  to  attack  Moscow,  while  Ivan  was  besieg- 
ing Kisan.  He  at  once  sent  off  the  Prince  Kourb- 
sky  with  15,003  men,  who  met  double  that  number 
of  Tatars  at  Toula,  and  totally  defeated  them,  pur- 
suing them  to  the  river  Chevorona,  where,  after  a 
second  defeat,  they  abandoned  a  great  number  of 
Russian  captives,  and  a  great  many  camels.  Prince 
Kourbsky  was  wounded  in  the  head  and  shoulder, 
but  was  able  to  continue  the  campaign. 

Some  of  the  boyards  murmured  at  the  war,  and 
declared  that  their  strength  and  resources  were  ex- 
hausted. Upon  this  the  Tzar  desired  that  two  lists 
might  be  drawn  up  of  the  willing  and  unwilling  war- 
riors in  his  camp.  "  The  first,"  he  said,  "  shall  be 
as  dear  to  me  as  my  own  children  ;  their  needs  shall 
be  made  known  to  me,  and  I  will  share  all  I  have 
with  them.  The  others  may  stay  at  home  ;  I  want 
no  cowards  in  my  army."  No  one  of  course  chose 
to  be  in  the  second  list,  and  about  this  time  was 
formed  the  famous  guard  called  the  Strelitzes,  a 
body  of  chosen  warriors  who  were  always  near  the 
person  of  the  Tzar. 

In  the  middle  of  August,  1552,  Ivan  encamped  in 
the  meadows  on  the  banks  of  the  Volga,  which 
spread  like  a  brilliant  green  carpet  around  the  hill 
upon  which  stood  the  strongly  fortified  city  of  Kazan. 
The  Tatars  had  no  fears.  "This  is  not  the  first 
time,"  they  said,  "  that  we  have  seen  the  Muscovites 
beneath  our  walls.  Their  fruitless  attacks  always 
end  in  retreats,  till  we  have  learnt  to  laugh  them  to 
scorn";  and  when  Ivan  sent  them  messengers  with 
offers  of  peace,  they  replied,  "  All  is  ready  ;  we  only 
await  your  coming  to  begin  the  feast." 

They  did  not  know  of  the  great  change  that  the 
last^  half  century  had  made  in  sieges.  One  of  the 
Italian  condottieri,  or  leaders  of  free  companies,  had 
made  his  way  to  Moscow,  and,  under  his  instruc- 
tions, Ivan's  troops  were  for  the  first  time  to  conduct 


228  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

a  siege  in  the  regular  modern  manner,  by  digging 
trenches  in  the  earth,  and  throwing  up  the  soil  in 
front  into  a  bank,  behind  which  the  cannon  and 
gunners  are  posted,  with  only  small  openings  made 
through  which  to  fire  at  some  spot  in  the  enemy's 
walls.  These  trenches  are  constantly  worked  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  fortifications,  till  by  the  effect  of 
the  shot  an  opening  or  breach  must  be  made  in  the 
walls,  and  the  soldiers  can  then  climb  up  upon  scal- 
ing ladders  or  heaps  of  small  faggots  piled  up  to 
the  height  of  the  opening.  Sometimes,  too,  the  be- 
siegers burrow  underground  till  they  are  just  below 
the  wall,  then  fill  the  hole  with  gunpowder,  and 
blow  all  above  them  ;  in  short,  instead  of,  as  in 
former  days,  a  well-fortified  city  being  almost  impos- 
sible to  take,  except  by  starving  out  the  garrison,  a 
siege  is  in  these  times  almost  equally  sure  to  end  in 
favor  of  the  besiegers. 

All  through  August  and  September  the  Russians 
made  their  approaches,  while  the  Tatars  resisted 
them  bravely,  but  often  showing  great  barbarity. 
Once  when  Ivan  again  sent  a  herald,  accompanied 
by  a  number  of  Tatar  prisoners,  to  offer  terms  to 
Yediguer,  the  present  Khan,  the  defenders  called 
out  to  their  countrymen,  "  You  had  better  perish  by 
our  pure  hands  than  by  those  of  the  wretched  Chris- 
tians,':  and  shot  a  whole  flight  of  arrows  at  them. 
Moreover,  every  morning  the  magicians  used  to 
come  out  at  sunrise  upon  the  walls,  and  their  shrieks, 
contortions,  and  waving  of  garments  were  believed, 
not  only  by  the  Tatars  but  by  the  Russians,  and  by 
Andref  Kourbskv  himself,  to  bring  foul  weather, 
which  greatly  harassed  the  Russians.  On  this  Ivan 
sent  to'  Moscow  for  a  sacred  cross  that  had  been 
given  to  the  Grand  Prince  Vladimir  when  he  was 
converted  ;  the  rivers  were  blessed,  and  their  water 
sprinkled  round  the  camp,  and  the  fair  weather  that 
ensued  was  supposed  to  be  due  to  this  counteraction 


Under  Ivan  the   Terrible.  229 

of  the  incantations  of  the  magicians.  These  Tatars 
were  Mahomedans,  but  they  must  have  retained 
some  of  the  wind-raising  enchantments  of  their 
Buddhist  brethren  in  Asia. 

A  great  mine  had  been  made  under  the  gate  of 
Arsk,  and  eleven  barrels  of  gunpowder  placed  in  it. 
On  the  30th  of  September  it  was  blown  up,  and  the 
whole  tower  became  a  heap  of  ruins.  For  some 
minutes  the  consternation  of  the  besieged  was  such 
that  there  was  a  dead  silence  like  the  stillness  of  the 
grave.  The  Russians  rushed  forward  over  the  open- 
ing, but  the  Tatars,  recovering  at  the  sight  of  them, 
fought  desperately,  but  could  not  prevent  them  from 
taking  possession  of  the  tower  at  the  gateway.  Other 
mines  were  already  prepared,  and  the  Tzar  gave  no- 
tice of  a  general  assault  for  the  next  day,  and  re- 
commended all  his  warriors  to  purify  their  souls  by 
repentance,  confession,  and  communion,  in  readiness 
for  the  deadly  strife  before  them.  In  the  mean  time, 
he  sent  Yediguer  a  last  offer  of  mercy,  but  the  brave 
Tatars  cried  out,  "We  will  have  no  pardon  !  If  the 
Russians  have  one  tower,  we  will  build  another  ;  if 
they  ruin  our  ramparts  we  will  set  up  more.  We 
will  be  buried  under  the  walls  of  Kazan,  or  else  we 
will  make  him  raise  the  siege." 

Early  dawn  began  to  break.  The  sky  was  clear 
and  cloudless.  The  Tatars  were  on  their  walls,  the 
Russians  in  their  trenches  ;  the  Imperial  eagle  stand- 
ard, which  Ivan  had  lately  assumed,  floated  in  the 
morning  wind.  The  two  armies  were  perfectly  si- 
lent, save  here  and  there  the  bray  of  a  signal  trump- 
et, or  beat  of  a  naker-drum  in  one  or  the  other, 
and  the  continuous  hum  of  the  hymns  and  chants 
from  the  three  Russian  chapel-tents.  The  archers 
held  their  arrows  on  the  string,  the  gunners  stood 
with  lighted  matches.  The  copper-clad  domes  of 
the  minarets  began  to  glow  with  the  rising  sun- 
beams, the  muezzins  were  on  the  roofs  about  to  call 


230  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

the  Moslemin  to  prayer  :  the  deacon  in  the  Tzar's 
chapel-tent  was  reading  the  Gospel,  "  There  shall 
be  one  fold  and  one  Shepherd."  At  that  moment 
the  sun's  disk  appeared  above  the  eastern  hills,  and 
ere  yet  the  red  orb  had  fully  mounted  above  the 
horizon,  there  was  a  burst  as  it  were  of  tremen- 
dous thunderings,  and  the  ground  shook  beneath 
the  church.  The  Tzar  went  to  the  entrance,  and 
found  the  whole  city-hill  so  "  rolled  in  sable  smoke," 
that  he  could  distinguish  nothing,  and,  going  back 
to  his  place,  desired  that  the  service  should  con- 
tinue. The  deacon  was  in  the  midst  of  the  prayer 
for  the  establishment  of  the  power  of  the  Tzar  and 
the  discomfiture  of  his  enemies,  when  the  crushing 
burst  of  another  explosion  rushed  upon  their  ears, 
and  as  it  died  away  another  voice  broke  forth,  —  the 
shout  raised  by  every  man  in  the  Russian  lines,  — 
"God  is  with  us  !  "  On  then  they  marched  towards 
the  openings  that  the  mines  had  made,  but  there  the 
dauntless  garrison,  in  spite  of  the  terror  and  destruc- 
tion caused  by  the  two  explosions,  met  them  with 
unabated  fury,  rolling  beams  or  pouring  boiling  wa- 
ter upon  them  as  they  strove  to  climb  the  breach, 
and  fighting  hand  to  hand  with  them  if  they  mount- 
ed it.  However,  by  the  time  the  Tzar  had  com- 
pleted his  devotions  and  mounted  his  horse,  his 
eagle  could  be  seen  above  the  smoke  upon  the  cita- 
del. 

Still  the  city  had  to  be  won,  step  by  step,  house 
by  house,  street  by  street  ;  and  even  while  strug- 
gling onwards  the  Russians  were  tempted  aside  by 
plunder  among  the  rich  stores  of  merchandise  that 
were  heaped  up  in  the  warehouses  of  this,  the  mart 
of  the  East.  The  Khan  profited  by  their  lack  of 
discipline,  and  forced  them  back  to  the  walls  ;  nay, 
they  would  have  absolutely  been  driven  out  at  the 
great  gate,  but  that  they  beheld  their  young  Tzar  on 
horseback  among  his  gray-haired  councillors.     By 


Under  Ivan  the  Terrible.  231 

the  advice  of  these  old  men,  Ivan  rode  forward,  and 
with  his  own  hand  planted  the  sacred  standard  at 
the  gates,  thus  forming  a  barrier  that  the  fugitives 
were  ashamed  to  pass.  At  the  same  time  he,  with 
half  his  choice  cavalry,  dismounted,  and  entered  the 
town  all  fresh  and  vigorous,  their  rich  armor  glitter- 
ing with  gold  and  silver,  and  plumes  of  various  col- 
ors streaming  from  their  helmets  in  all  the  brilliancy 
of  Eastern  taste.  This  reinforcement  recalled  the 
plunderers  to  their  duty,  and  the  Tatars  were  driven 
back  to  the  Khan's  palace,  whence,  after  an  hour's 
defence,  they  were  forced  to  retreat. 

At  a  postern  gate,  Andrej  Kourbsky  and  two  hun- 
dred men  met  Yediguer  and  10,000  Tatars,  and  cut 
off  their  retreat,  enclosing  them  in  the  narrow  streets. 
They  forced  their  Khan  to  take  refuge  in  a  tower, 
and  made  signs  as  if  to  capitulate.  "  Listen,"  they 
said.  "  As  long  as  we  had  a  government  we  were 
willing  to  die  for  our  prince  and  country.  Now 
Kazan  is  yours,  we  deliver  our  Khan  to  you,  alive 
and  unhurt,  —  lead  him  to  the  Tzar.  For  our  own 
part,  we  are  coming  down  into  the  open  field  to 
drain  our  last  cup  of  life  with  you." 

Yediguer  and  one  old  councillor  were  accordingly 
placed  in  the  hands  of  an  officer,  and  then  the  des- 
perate Tatars,  climbing  down  the  outside  of  the 
walls,  made  for  the  Kazanka,  where  no  troops,  ex- 
cept the  small  body  under  Andrej  Kourbsky  and  his 
brother  Romanus,  were  at  leisure  to  pursue  them. 
The  fighting  was  terrible,  but  the  two  princes  kept 
them  in  view  until  checked  by  a  marsh  which  horses 
could  not  pass.  The  bold  fugitives  took  refuge  in  a 
forest,  where,  other  Russian  troops  coming  up,  all 
were  surrounded  and  slain,  since  not  a  man  of  them 
would  accept  quarter. 

Yediguer  was  kindly  treated  by  Ivan,  and  accom- 
panying him  to  Moscow,  there  became  a  Christian, 
and  was  baptized  by  the  name  of  Simeon,  in  the 


232  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

presence  of  the  Tzar  and  his  whole  court,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Moskwa.  He  married  a  Russian  lady, 
and  his  whole  conduct  proved  that  his  conversion 
was  sincere. 

But  this  story  has  only  been  told  at  so  much 
length  to  show  what  manner  of  man  Andrej  Kourb- 
sky  was,  and  Ivan  Vassilovitch  had  been,  and  how 
they  had  once  been  brethren  in  arms  ;  and  perhaps 
it  has  been  lingered  over  from  the  melancholy  inter- 
est there  must  always  be  in  watching  the  fall  of  a 
powerful  nation,  and  the  last  struggles  of  gallant 
men.  Ivan  was  then  a  gallant,  religious,  and  highly 
gifted  prince,  generous  and  merciful,  and  with  every 
promise  of  a  glorious  reign,  full  of  benefits  to  his 
country.  Alas !  this  part  of  his  career  was  one 
glimpse  of  brightness  in  the  course  of  a  long  tem- 
pestuous day.  His  reign  had  begun  when  he  was 
but  three  years  old.  He  had  had  a  violent  and  cruel 
mother,  and  had,  after  her  death,  been  bred  up  by 
evil-minded  courtiers,  who  absolutely  taught  him 
cruel  and  dissolute  amusements  in  order  to  prevent 
him  from  attending  to  state  affairs.  For  a  time,  the 
exhortations  of  the  good  and  fearless  patriarch,  and 
the  influence  of  his  gentle  wife  Anastasia,  had  pre- 
vailed ;  and  with  great  vigor  and  strong  principle  he 
had  shaken  off  all  the  evil  habits  of  his  boyhood, 
and  begun,  as  it  seemed,  an  admirable  reign. 

Too  soon,  a  severe  illness  shook  the  balance  of 
his  mind,  and  this  was  quickly  followed  by  the  death 
of  the  excellent  Tzarina  Anastasia.  Whether  grief 
further  unsettled  him,  or  whether  the  loss  of  her 
gentle  influence  left  him  a  prey  to  his  wicked  coun- 
sellors, from  that  time  forward  his  conduct  was  so 
wildly  savage  and  barbarous  as  to  win  for  him  the 
surname  of  the  Terrible.  Frantic  actions,  extrava- 
gant excesses,  and  freaks  of  horrible  cruelty  looked 
like  insanity  ;  and  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  he  often 
showed  himself  a  clear-headed  and  sagacious  mon- 


Under  Ivan  the  Terrible.  233 

arch,  anxious  for  the  glory  and  improvement  of  his 
people. 

But  he  lived  in  continual  suspicion,  and  dreaded 
every  eminent  man  in  his  dominions.  Kourbsky, 
whom  he  had  once  loved  and  trusted,  and  had 
charged  with  the  command  of  his  army,  as  his  most 
able  boyard,  fell  under  his  suspicion  ;  and  with  hor- 
ror and  indignation,  learnt  that  the  Tzar  was  plot- 
ting against  his  life,  and  intended  to  have  him  put  to 
death.  Kourbsky  upon  this  explained  to  his  wife 
that  she  must  either  see  him  put  to  a  shameful 
death,  or  let  him  leave  her  for  ever.  He  gave  his 
blessing  to  his  son,  a  boy  of  nine  years  old,  and  leav- 
ing his  house  at  night  he  scaled  the  wall  of  Moscow, 
and  meeting  his  faithful  servant,  Vasili  ShibanofF, 
with  two  horses,  he  made  his  escape.  This  Vasili 
was  his  stirrup-bearer,  one  of  those  serfs  over  whom 
the  boyard  on  whose  land  they  were  born  possessed 
absolute  power.  That  power  was  often  abused,  but 
the  instinctive  faithfulness  of  the  serf  towards  his 
master  could  hardly  be  shaken,  even  by  the  most 
savage  treatment,  and  a  well-treated  serf  viewed  his 
mister's  family  with  enthusiastic  love  and  venera- 
tion. Vasili  accompanied  his  master's  flight  through 
the  birch  forests  towards  the  Livonian  frontier,  the 
country,  where  but  lately  Kourbsky  had  been  leading 
the  Tzar's  armies.  On  the  way,  the  prince's  horse 
became  exhausted  by  his  weight,  and  Vasili  insist- 
ed on  giving  up  his  own  in  its  stead,  though  capture 
in  the  course  of  such  desertion  would  have  been  cer- 
tain death.  However,  master  and  servant  safely  ar- 
rived at  Wolmir  in  Livonia,  and  there  Andrej  came 
to  the  determination  of  renouncing  the  service  of 
the  ungrateful  Ivan,  and  entering  that  of  the  king  of 
Poland.  For  this  last  step  there  was  no  excuse. 
Nothing  can  justify  a  man  in  taking  up  arms  against 
his  country,  but  in  the  Middle  Ages  the  tie  of  loyalty 
was  rather  to  the  man  than  to  the  state,  and  Andrej 


234  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Kourbsky  seems  to  have  deemed  that  his  honor 
would  be  safe,  provided  he  sent  a  letter  to  his  sov- 
ereign, explaining  his  grievances  and  giving  up  his 
allegiance.  The  letter  is  said  to  have  been  full  of 
grave  severity  and  deep,  suppressed  indignation, 
though  temperate  in  tone  ;  but  no  one  would  con- 
sent to  be  the  bearer  of  such  a  missive,  since  the 
cruel  tyrant's  first  fury  was  almost  certain  to  fall  on 
him  who  presented  it.  Believing  his  master's  hon- 
or at  stake.  Yasili  offered  himself  to  be  the  bearer  of 
the  fatal  letter,  and  Kourbsky  accepted  the  offer, 
tendering  to  him  a  sum  of  money,  which  the  serf 
rejected,  knowing  that  money  would  soon  be  of  lit- 
tle sen-ice  to  him.  and  seeking  no  reward  for  what 
he  deemed  his  duty  to  his  lord. 

As  Ivan's  justice  had  turned  into  barbarity,  so  his 
religion  had  turned  into  foolish  fanatic  observance. 
He  had  built  a  monastery  near  Moscow  for  himself 
and  three  hundred  chosen  boyards.  and  even-  morn- 
ing at  three  cr  four  o'clock  he  tcok  his  two  sens  in- 
to the  belfry  with  him  and  proceeded  to  strike  the 
bells,  the  Russian  mode  of  ringing  them,  till  all  the 
brethren  were  assembled.  This  bell-scunding  was 
his  favorite  occupation,  and  in  it  he  was  engaged 
when  Yasili  arrived.  The  servant  awaited  him  in 
the  vestibule,  and  delivered  the  letter  with  these 
words  :  "  From  my  master  and  thine  exile,  Prince 
Andrej  Kourbsky."' 

Ivan  answered  by  such  a  blow  on  the  leg  with  his 
iron-tipped  rod  that  the  blood  poured  from  the 
wound  ;  but  Yasili  neither  started,  cried  out.  nor 
moved  a  feature.  At  once  the  Tzar  bade  him  be 
seized  and  tortured,  to  make  him  disclose  whether 
his  master  had  any  partners  in  guilt,  or  if  any  plans 
were  matured.  But  no  extremity  of  agony  could 
extract  aught  but  praises  of  the  prince,  and  assur- 
ances of  his  readiness  to  die  for  him.  From  early 
morn  till  late  at  night  the  torturers  worked,  one  sue- 


Under  Ivan  the  Terrible.  235 

ceeding  when  another  was  tired  out  ;  but  nothing 
could  overcome  his  constancy,  and  his  last  words 
were  a  prayer  to  implore  his  God  to  have  mercy  on 
his  master  and  forgive  his  desertion. 

His  praise  came  even  from  the  tyrant,  who  wrote 
to  Kourbsky  —  "Let  thy  servant  Vaska*  shame 
thee.  He  preserved  his  truth  to  thee  before  the 
Tzar  and  the  people.  Having  given  thee  his  word 
of  faith,  he  kept  it,  even  before  the  gates  of  death." 

After  the  flight  of  Kourbsky,  the  rage  of  Ivan 
continued  to  increase  with  each  year  of  his  life.  He 
had  formed  a  sort  of  body-guard  of  a  thousand  rut- 
nans,  called  the  Oprichnina,  who  carried  out  his 
barbarous  commands,  and  committed  an  infinity  of 
murders  and  robberies  on  their  own  account.  He 
was  like  a  distorted  caricature  of  Henry  VIII.,  and 
like  him,  united  violence  and  cruelty  with  great  ex- 
actness about  religious  worship,  carrying  his  per- 
sonal observances  to  the   most  fanatic  extravagance. 

In  the  vacancy  of  the  Metropolitan  See,  he  cast 
his  eyes  upon  the  monastery  in  the  little  island  of 
Solovsky,  in  the  White  Sea,  where  the  Prior,  Fee- 
leep  Kolotchof,  was  noted  for  his  holy  life,  and  the 
good  he  had  done  among  the  wild  and  miserable 
population  of  the  island.  He  was  the  son  of  a  rich 
boyard,  but  had  devoted  himself  from  his  youth  to  a 
monastic  life,  and  the  fame  of  his  exertions  in  behalf 
of  the  islanders  had  led  the  Tzar  to  send  him  not 
only  precious  vessels  for  the  use  of  his  church,  but 
contributions  to  the  stone  churches,  piers,  and  hos- 
telries  that  he  raised  for  his  people  ;  for  whom  he 
had  made  roads,  drained  marshes,  introduced  cat- 
tle, and  made  fisheries  and  salt-pans,  changing  the 
whole  aspect  of  the  place,  and  lessening  even  the  in- 
clemency of  the  climate. 

On  this  good  man  the  Tzar  fixed  his  choice.     He 

*  The  abbreviation  of  Vasili  or  Basil. 


236  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

wrote  to  him  to  come  to  Moscow  to  attend  a  synod, 
and  on  his  arrival  made  him  dine  at  the  palace,  and 
informed  him  that  he  was  to  be  chief  pastor  of  the 
Russian  Church.  Feeleep  burst  into  tears,  entreat- 
ing permission  to  refuse,  and  beseeching  the  Tzar 
not  to  trust  "  so  heavy  a  freight  to  such  a  feeble 
bark."  Ivan  held  to  his  determination,  and  Feeleep 
then  begged  him  at  least  to  dismiss  the  cruel  Oprich- 
nina.  "  How  can  I  bless  you,"  he  said,  "  while  I 
see  my  country  in  mourning  ?  " 

The  Tzar  replied  by  mentioning  his  suspicions 
of  all  around  him,  and  commanded  Feeleep  to  be 
silent.  He  expected  to  be  sent  back  to  his  convent 
at  once,  but,  instead  of  this,  the  Tzar  commanded 
the  clergy  to  elect  him  Archbishop,  and  they  all 
added  their  entreaties  to  him  to  accept  the  office, 
and  endeavor  to  soften  the  Tzar,  who  respected 
him  ;  and  he  yielded  at  last,  saying,  "  The  will  of 
the  Tzar  and  the  pastors  of  the  Church  must  then, 
be  done." 

At  his  consecration,  he  preached  a  sermon  on  the 
power  of  mildness,  and  the  superiority  of  the  victo- 
ries of  love  over  the  triumphs  of  war.  It  awoke 
the  better  feelings  of  Ivan,  and  for  months  he  ab- 
stained from  any  deed  of  violence  ;  his  good  days 
seemed  to  have  returned,  and  he  lived  in  intimate 
friendship  with  the  good  Archbishop. 

But  after  a  time  the  sleeping  lion  began  to  waken. 
Ivan's  suspicious  mind  took  up  an  idea  that  Fee- 
leep had  been  incited  by  the  nobles  to  request  the 
abolition  of  the  Oprichnina,  and  that  they  were 
exciting  a  revolt.  The  spies  whom  he  sent  into 
Moscow  told  him  that  wherever  an  Oprichnik  ap- 
peared, the  people  shrank  away  in  silence,  as,  poor 
things  !  they  well  might.  He  fancied  this  a  sign 
that  conspiracies  were  brewing,  and  all  his  atroci- 
ties began  again.  The  tortures  to  which  whole 
families  were  put  were  most  horrible  ;  the  Oprich- 


Under  Ivan  the  Terrible.  237 

niks  went  through  the  streets  with  poniards  and 
axes  seeking  out  their  victims,  and  killing  from  ten 
to  twenty  a  day.  The  corpses  lay  in  the  streets, 
for  no  one  dared  to  leave  his  house  to  bury  them. 
Feeleep  vainly  sent  letters  and  exhortations  to  the 
Tzar, — they  were  unnoticed.  The  unhappy  citi- 
zens came  to  the  Archbishop,  entreating  him  to  in- 
tercede for  them,  and  he  gave  them  his  promise  that 
he  would  not  spare  his  own  blood  to  save  theirs. 

One  Sunday,  as  Feeleep  was  about  to  celebrate 
the  Holy  Communion,  Ivan  came  into  the  Cathe- 
dral with  a  troop  of  his  satellites,  like  him,  fantasti- 
cally dressed  in  black  cassocks  and  high  caps.  He 
came  towards  the  Metropolitan,  but  Feeleep  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  picture  of  our  Lord,  and  never 
looked  at  him.  Soma  one  said,  "  Holy  Father,  here 
is  the  prince  ;  give  him  your  blessing." 

"  No,"  said  the  Archbishop,  "  I  know  not  the 
Tzar  in  this  strange  disguise,  —  still  less  do  I  know 
him  in  his  government.  O  Prince  !  we  are  here 
offering  sacrifice  to  the  Lord,  and  beneath  the  altar 
the  blood  of  guiltless  Christians  is  flowing  in  tor- 
rents  You  are  indeed  on  the  throne,  but  there 

is  One  above  all,  our  Judge  and  yours.  How  shall 
you  appear  before  His  Judgment  Seat? — stained 
with  the  blood  of  the  righteous,  stunned  with  their 
shrieks,  for  the  stones  beneath  your  feet  cry  out  for 
vengeance  to  heaven.  Prince,  I  speak  as  shepherd 
of  souls  ;   I  fear  God  alone." 

The  Archbishop  was  within  the  golden  gates, 
which,  in  Russian  churches,  close  in  the  sanctuary 
or  chancel,  and  are  only  entered  by  the  clergy.  He 
was  thus  out  of  reach  of  the  cruel  iron-tipped  staff, 
which  the  Tzar  could  only  strike  furiously  on  the 
pavement,  crying  out,  "  Rash  monk,  I  have  spared 
you  too  long.  Henceforth  I  will  be  to  you  such  as 
you  describe." 

The  murders  went  on  in  their  full  horrors  ;  but, 


233  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

in  spite  of  the  threat,  the  Archbishop  remained  un- 
molested, though  broken-hearted  at  the  cruelties 
around  him.  At  last,  however,  his  resolute  witness 
became  more  than  the  tyrant  would  endure,  and 
messengers  were  secretly  sent  to  the  island  of  So- 
lovsky,  to  endeavor  to  find  some  accusation  against 
him.  They  tampered  with  all  the  monks  in  the 
convent,  to  induce  them  to  find  some  fault  in  him, 
but  each  answered  that  he  was  a  saint  in  every 
thought,  word,  and  deed  ;  until  at  last  Payssi,  the 
prior  who  had  succeeded  him,  was  induced,  by  the 
hope  of  a  bishopric,  to  bear  false  witness  against 
him. 

He  was  cited  before  an  assembly  of  bishops  and 
boyards,  presided  over  by  the  Tzar,  and  there  he 
patiently  listened  to  the  monstrous  stories  told  by 
Payssi.  Instead  of  defending  himself,  he  simply 
said,  "  This  seed  will  not  bring  you  a  good  har- 
vest "  ;  and.  addressing  himself  to  the  Tzar,  said, 
"  Prince,  you  are  mistaken  if  you  think  I  fear  death. 
Having  attained  an  advanced  age,  far  from  stormy 
passions  and  worldly  intrigues,  I  only  desire  to  re- 
turn my  soul  to  the  Most  High,  my  Sovereign  Mas- 
ter and  yours.  Better  to  perish  an  innocent  martyr, 
than  as  Metropolitan  to  look  on  at  the  horrors  and 
impieties  of  these  wretched  times.  Do  what  you 
will  with  me  !  Here  are  the  pastoral  staff,  the 
white  mitre,  and  the  mantle  with  which  you  in- 
vested me.  And  you,  bishops,  archimandrites, 
abbots,  servants  of  the  altar,  feed  the  flock  of 
Christ  zealously,  as  preparing  to  give  an  account 
thereof,  and  fear  the  judge  of  Heaven  more  than 
the  earthly  judge." 

He  was  then  departing,  when  the  Tzar  recalled 
him,  saying  that  he  could  not  be  his  own  judge, 
and  that  he  must  await  his  sentence.  In  truth, 
worse  indignities  were  preparing  for  him.  He  was 
in  the   midst  of  the  Liturgy  en  the  8th  of  Novem- 


Under  Ivan  the  Terrible.  239 

ber,  the  Greek  Michaelmas,  when  a  boyard  came  in 
with  a  troop  of  armed  Oprichniks,  who  overawed 
the  people,  while  the  boyard  read  a  paper  degrad- 
ing the  Metropolitan  from  his  sacred  office  ;  and 
then  the  ruffians,  entering  through  the  golden 
gates,  tore  off  his  mitre  and  robes,  wrapped  him 
in  a  mean  gown,  absolutely  swept  him  out  of  the 
church  with  brooms,  and  took  him  in  a  sledge  to 
the  Convent  of  the  Epiphany.  The  people  ran 
after  him,  weeping  bitterly,  while  the  venerable  old 
man  blessed  them  with  uplifted  hands,  and,  when- 
ever he  could  be  heard,  repeated  his  last  injunction, 
"  Pray,  pray  to  God." 

Once  again  he  was  led  before  the  Emperor,  to 
hear  the  monstrous  sentence,  that  for  sorcery,  and 
other  heavy  charges,  he  was  to  be  imprisoned  for 
life.  He  said  no  reproachful  word,  only,  for  the 
last  time,  he  besought  the  Tzar  to  have  pity  on 
Russia,  and  to  remember  how  his  ancestors  had 
reigned,  and  the  happy  days  of  his  youth.  Ivan 
only  commanded  the  soldiers  to  take  him  away ; 
and  he  was  heavily  ironed  and  thrown  into  a  dun- 
geon, whence  he  was  afterwards  transferred  to  a 
convent  on  the  banks  of  the  Moskwa,  where  he  was 
kept  bare  of  almost  all  the  necessaries  of  life  :  and 
in  a  few  days'  time  the  head  of  Ivan  Borissovitch 
Kolotchof,  the  chief  of  his  family,  was  sent  to  him, 
with  the  message,  "  Here  are  the  remains  of  your 
dear  kinsman,  your  sorcery  could  not  save  him  !  " 
Feeleep  calmly  took  the  head  in  his  arms,  blessed 
it,  and  gave  it  back. 

The  people  of  Moscow  gathered  round  the  con- 
vent, gazed  at  his  cell,  and  told  each  other  stories 
of  his  good  works,  which  they  began  to  magnify 
into  miracles.  Thereupon  the  Emperor  sent  him 
to  another  convent,  at  a  greater  distance.  Here  he 
remained  till  the  next  year,  1569,  when  Maluta 
Skouratof,  a  Tatar  noted  as  a  favorite  of  the  Tzar, 


240  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

and  one  of  the  chief  ministers  of  his  cruelty,  came 
into  his  cell,  and  demanded  his  blessing  for  the 
Tzar. 

The  Archbishop  replied  that  blessings  only  await 
good  men  and  good  works,  adding  tranquilly,  "I 
know  what  you  are  come  for.  I  have  long  looked 
for  death.  Let  the  Tzar's  will  be  done."  The  as- 
sassin then  smothered  him,  but  pretended  to  the 
abbot  that  he  had  been  stifled  by  the  heat  of  the 
cell.  He  was  buried  in  haste  behind  the  altar,  but 
his  remains  have  since  been  removed  to  his  own 
cathedral  at  Moscow,  the  scene  where  he  had  freely 
offered  his  own  life  by  confronting  the  tyrant  in  the 
vain  endeavor  to  save  his  people. 

Vain,  too,  was  the  reproof  of  the  hermit,  who 
shocked  Ivan's  scruples  by  offering  him  a  piece  of 
raw  flesh  in  the  middle  of  Lent,  and  told  him  that 
he  was  preying  on  the  flesh  and  blood  of  his  sub- 
jects. The  crimes  of  Ivan  grew  more  and  more 
terrible,  and  yet  his  acuteness  was  such  that  they 
can  hardly  be  ascribed  to  insanity.  He  caused  the 
death  of  his  own  son  by  a  blow  with  that  fatal  staff 
of  his  ;  and  at  last,  after  a  fever,  varied  by  terrible 
delirium,  in  which  alone  his  remorse  manifested  it- 
self, he  died  while  setting  up  the  pieces  for  a  game 
at  chess,  on  the  17th  of  March,  1584. 

This  has  been  a  horrible  story,  in  reality  infinitely 
more  horrible  than  we  have  made  it  ;  but  there  is 
this  blessing  among  many  others  in  Christianity, 
that  the  blackest  night  makes  its  diamonds  only 
show  their  living  lustre  more  plainly  :  and  surely 
even  Ivan  the  Terrible,  in  spite  of  himself,  did  some- 
thing for  the  world  in  bringing  out  the  faithful  fear- 
lessness of  Archbishop  Feeleep,  and  the  constancy 
of  the  stirrup-bearer,  Vasili. 


FORT    ST.  ELMO. 

1565. 

THE  white  cross  of  the  Order  of  St.  John  waved 
on  the  towers  of  Rhodes  for  two  hundred  and 
fifty-five  years.  In  1552,  after  a  desperate  resist- 
ance, the  Turks,  under  their  great  Sultan,  Solyman 
the  Magnificent,  succeeded  in  driving  the  Knights 
Hospitaliers  from  their  beautiful  home,  and  they 
were  again  cast  upon  the  world. 

They  were  resolved,  however,  to  continue  their  old 
work  of  protecting  the  Mediterranean  travellers,  and 
thankfully  accepted,  as  a  gift  from  the  Emperor 
Charles  V.,  the  little  islet  of  Malta  as  their  new  sta- 
tion. It  was  a  great  contrast  to  their  former  home, 
being  little  more  than  a  mere  rock  rising  steeply 
out  of  the  sea,  white,  glaring,  and  with  very  shallow 
earth,  unfit  to  bear  corn,  though  it  produced  plenty 
of  oranges,  figs,  and  melons,  —  with  little  water,  and 
no  wood,  —  the  buildings  wretched,  and  for  the  most 
part  uninhabited,  and  the  few  people  a  miserable, 
mongrel  set,  part  Arab,  part  Greek,  part  Sicilian, 
and  constantly  kept  down  by  the  descents  of  the 
Moorish  pirates,  who  used  to  land  in  the  unpro- 
tected bays,  and  carry  off  all  the  wretched  beings 
they  could  catch,  to  sell  for  slaves.  It  was  a  miser- 
able exchange  from  fertile  Rhodes,  which  was  nearly 
five  times  larger  than  this  barren  rock  ;  but  the 
Knights  only  wanted  a  hospital,  a  fortress,  and  a 
16 


242  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

harbor  ;  and  this  last  they  found  in  the  deeply-in- 
dented northern  shore,  while  they  made  the  two  first. 
Only  a  few  years  had  passed  before  the  dreary 
Citta  Notabile  had  become  in  truth  a  notable  city, 
full  of  fine  castle-like  houses,  infirmaries,  and  noble 
churches,  and  fenced  in  with  mighty  walls  and  bat- 
tlements. Country-houses  were  perched  upon  the 
rocks  ;  the  harbors  were  fortified,  and  filled  with 
vessels  of  war  ;  and  deep  vaults  were  hollowed  out 
in  the  rock,  in  which  corn  was  stored  sufficient  to 
supply  the  inhabitants  for  many  months. 

Everywhere  that  there  was  need  was  seen  the  red 
flag  with  the  eight-pointed  cross.  If  there  was  an 
earthquake  on  the  shores  of  Italy  or  Sicily,  there 
were  the  ships  of  St.  John,  bringing  succor  to  the 
crushed  and  ruined  towns-people.  In  every  battle 
with  Turk  or  Moor,  the  Knights  were  among  the 
foremost ;  and,  as  ever  before,  their  galleys  were  the 
aid  of  the  peaceful  merchant,  and  the  terror  of  the 
corsair.  Indeed,  they  were  nearer  Tunis,  Tripoli, 
and  Algiers,  the  great  nests  of  these  Moorish  pi- 
rates, and  were  better  able  to  threaten  them,  and 
thwart  their  cruel  descents,  than  when  so  much  far- 
ther eastward  ;  and  the  Mahometan  power  found 
them  quite  as  obnoxious  in  Malta  as  in  Rhodes. 

Solyman  the  Magnificent  resolved,  in  his  old  age, 
to  sweep  these  obstinate  Christians  from  the  seas, 
and,  only  twelve  years  after  the  siege  of  Rhodes, 
prepared  an  enormous  armament,  which  he  united 
with  those  of  the  Earbary  pirates,  and  placed  under 
the  command  of  Mustafa  and  Piali,  his  two  bravest 
pashas,  and  Dragut,  a  terrible  Algerine  corsair,  who 
had  already  made  an  attempt  upon  the  island,  but 
had  been  repulsed  by  the  good  English  knight,  Sir 
Nicholas  Upton.  Without  the  advice  of  this  pirate 
the  Sultan  desired  that  nothing  should  be  undertaken. 

The  Grand  Master  who  had  to  meet  this  tremen- 
dous danger  was  Jean  Parisot  de  La  Valette,  a  brave 


Fort  St.  Elmo.  243 

and  resolute  man,  as  noted  for  his  piety  and  tender- 
ness to  the  sick  in  the  infirmaries  as  for  his  unflinch- 
ing courage.  When  he  learnt  the  intentions  of  the 
Sultan,  he  began  by  collecting  a  Chapter  of  his  Or- 
der, and,  after  laying  his  tidings  before  them,  said  : 
"  A  formidable  army  and  a  cloud  of  barbarians  are 
about  to  burst  on  this  isle.  Brethren,  they  are  the 
enemies  of  Jesus  Christ.  The  question  is  the  de- 
fence of  the  Faith,  and  whether  the  Gospel  shall 
yield  to  the  Koran.  God  demands  from  us  the  life  that 
we  have  already  devoted  to  Him  by  our  profession. 
Happy  they  who  in  so  good  a  cause  shall  first  con- 
summate their  sacrifice.  But,  that  we  may  be  wor- 
thy, my  brethren,  let  us  hasten  to  the  altar,  there  to 
renew  our  vows  ;  and  may  to  each  one  of  us  be  im- 
parted, by  the  very  Blood  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind, 
and  by  faithful  participation  in  His  Sacraments,  that 
generous  contempt  of  death  that  can  alone  render 
us  invincible." 

With  these  words  he  led  the  way  to  the  church, 
and  there  was  not  an  individual  knight  who  did  not 
on  that  day  confess  and  receive  the  Holy  Commun- 
ion ;  after  which  they  were  as  new  men,  —  all  dis- 
putes, all  trivialities  and  follies  were  laid  aside,  —  and 
the  whole  community  awaited  the  siege  like  persons 
under  a  solemn  dedication. 

The  chief  harbor  of  Malta  is  a  deep  bay,  turned 
towards  the  north,  and  divided  into  two  lesser  bays 
by  a  large  tongue  of  rock,  on  the  point  of  which 
stood  a  strong  castle,  called  Fort  St.  Elmo.  The 
gulf  to  the  westward  has  a  little  island  in  it,  and  both 
gulf  and  islet  are  called  Marza  Muscat.  The  gulf 
to  the  east,  called  the  Grand  Port,  was  again  divided 
by  three  fingers  of  rock  projecting  from  the  main- 
land, at  right  angles  to  the  tongue  that  bore  Fort 
St.  Elmo.  Each  finger  was  armed  with  a  strong 
talon,  —  the  Castle  of  La  Sangle  to  the  east,  the 
Castle  of  St.  Angelo  in  the  middle,  and  Fort  Rica- 


244  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

soli  to  the  west.  Between  St.  Angelo  and  La  San- 
gle  was  the  harbor  where  all  the  ships  of  war  were 
shut  up  at  night  by  an  immense  chain  ;  and  behind 
was  il  Borgo,  the  chief  fortification  in  the  island. 
Citta  Notabile  and  Gozo  were  inland,  and  their  fate 
would  depend  upon  that  of  the  defences  of  the  har- 
bor. To  defend  all  this,  the  Grand  Master  could 
only  number  700  knights  and  8,500  soldiers.  He 
sent  to  summon  home  all  those  of  the  Order  who 
were  dispersed  in  the  different  commanderies  in 
France,  Spain,  and  Germany,  and  entreated  aid 
from  the  Spanish  king,  Philip  II.,  who  wished  to  be 
considered  as  the  prime  champion  of  Roman  Catho- 
lic Christendom,  and  who  alone  had  the  power  of 
assisting  him.  The  Duke  of  Alva,  viceroy  for  Philip 
in  Sicily,  made  answer  that  he  would  endeavor  to 
relieve  the  Order,  if  they  could  hold  out  Fort  St 
Elmo  till  the  fleet  could  be  got  together  ;  but  that 
if  this  castle  were  once  lost,  it  would  be  impossible 
to  bring  them  aid.  and  they  must  be  left  to  their 
fate. 

The  Grand  Master  divided  the  various  posts  to 
the  knights  according  to  their  countries.  The  Span- 
iards under  the  Commander  De  Guerras,  Bailiff  of 
Negropont,  had  the  Castle  of  St.  Elmo  ;  the  French 
had  Port  de  la  Sangle  ;  the  Germans,  and  the  few 
English  knights  whom  the  Reformation  had  left, 
were  charged  with  the  defence  of  the  Port  of  the 
Borgo.  which  served  as  head-quarters,  and  the  Com- 
mander Copier,  with  a  body  of  troops,  was  to  re- 
main outside  the  town  and'  watch  and  harass  the 
enemy. 

On' the  18th  of  May,  1565.  the  Turkish  fleet  came 
in  sight.  It  consisted  of  159  ships,  rowed  by  Chris- 
tian Slaves  between  the  decks,  and  carrying  30.000 
Janissaries  and  Spahis,  the  terrible  warriors  to  whom 
the  Turks  owed  most  of  their  victories,  and  after 
them  came,  spreading  for  miles  over  the  blue  wa- 


Fort  St.  Elmo.  245 

ters,  a  multitude  of  ships  of  burden  bringing  the 
horses  of  the  Spahis,  and  such  heavy  battering-can- 
non as  rendered  the  dangers  of  a  siege  infinitely 
greater  than  in  former  days.  These  Janissaries 
were  a  strange,  distorted  resemblance  of  the  knights 
themselves,  for  they  were  bound  in  a  strict  brother- 
hood of  arms,  and  were  not  married,  so  as  to  care 
for  nothing  but  each  other,  the  Sultan,  and  the  hon- 
or of  their  troop.  They  were  not  dull,  apathetic 
Turks,  but  chiefly  natives  of  Circassia  and  Georgia, 
the  land  where  the  human  race  is  most'  beautiful  and 
nobly  formed.  They  were  stolen  from  their  homes, 
or,  too  often,  sold  by  their  parents  when  too  young 
to  remember  their  Christian  baptism,  and  were  bred 
up  as  Mahometans,  with  no  home  but  their  corps, 
no  kindred  but  their  fellow-soldiers.  Their  title, 
given  by  the  Sultan  who  first  enrolled  them,  meant 
New  Soldiers,  their  ensign  was  a  camp  kettle,  as 
that  of  their  Pashas  was  one,  two,  or  three  horses' 
tails,  in  honor  of  the  old  Kurdish  chief,  the  founder 
of  the  Turkish  empire  ;  but  there  was  no  homeli- 
ness in  their  appointments,  their  weapons  —  scimi- 
tars, pistols,  and  carabines  —  were  crusted  with  gold 
and  jewels  ;  their  head-dress,  though  made  in  imita- 
tion of  a  sleeve,  was  gorgeous,  and  their  garments 
were  of  the  richest  wool  and  silk,  dyed  with  the 
deep,  exquisite  colors  of  the  East.  Terrible  war- 
riors were  they,  and  almost  equally  dreaded  were 
the  Spahis,  light  horsemen  from  Albania  and  the 
other  Greek  and  Bulgarian  provinces,  who  had  en- 
tered the  Turkish  service,  and  were  great  plunderers, 
swift  and  cruel,  glittering,  both  man  and  horse,  with 
the  jewels  they  had  gained  in  their  forays. 

These  were  chiefly  troops  for  the  land  attack,  and 
they  were  set  on  shore  at  Port  St.  Thomas,  where 
the  commanders,  Mustafa  and  Piali,  held  a  council, 
to  decide  where  they  should  first  attack.  Piali 
wished  to  wait  for  Dragut,  who  was  daily  expected, 


246  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

but  Mustafa  was  afraid  of  losing  time,  and  of  being 
caught  by  the  Spanish  fleet,  and  insisted  on  at  once 
laying  siege  to  Fort  St.  Elmo,  which  was,  he  thought, 
so  small  that  it  could  not  hold  out  more  than  five  or 
six  days. 

Indeed,  it  could  not  hold  above  300  men,  but  these 
were  some  of  the  bravest  of  the  knights,  and  as  it 
was  only  attacked  on  the  land  side,  they  were  able 
to  put  off  boats  at  night  and  communicate  with  the 
Grand  Master  and  their  brethren  in  the  Borgo.  The 
Turks  set  up  their  batteries,  and  fired  their  enor- 
mous cannon-shot  upon  the  fortifications.  One  of 
their  terrible  pieces  of  ordnance  carried  stone  balls 
of  160  lbs.,  and  no  wonder  that  stone  and  mortar 
gave  way  before  it,  and  that  a  breach  was  opened  in 
a  few  days"  time.  That  night,  when,  as  usual,  boat- 
loads of  wounded  men  were  transported  across  to 
the  Borgo,  the  Bailiff  of  Negropont  sent  the  knight 
La  Cerda  to  the  Grand  Master  to  give  an  account 
of  the  state  of  things  and  ask  for  help.  La  Cerda 
spoke  strongly,  and.  before  a  great  number  of 
knights,  declared  that  there  was  no  chance  of  so 
weak  a  place  holding  out  for  more  than  a  week. 

"What  has  been  lost."  said  the  Grand  Master, 
"since  you  cry  out  for  help?" 

"Sir."  replied  La  Cerda.  "the  castle  may  be  re- 
garded as  a  patient  in  extremity  and  devoid  of 
strength,  who  can  only  be  sustained  by  continual 
remedies  and  constant  succor."' 

'•  I  will  be  doctor  myself,"  replied  the  Grand  Mas- 
ter, ';  and  will  bring  others  with  me,  who,  if  they 
cannot  cure  you  of  fear,  will  at  least  be  brave 
enough  to  prevent  the  infidels  from  seizing  the  fort." 

The  fact  was,  as  he  well  knew,  that  the  little  fort 
could  not  hold  out  long,  and  he  grieved  over  the  fate 
of  his  knights  ;  but  time  was  everything,  and  the 
fate  of  the  whole  isle  depended  upon  the  white  cross 
being   still   on   that   point  of  land  when   the  tardy 


Fort  St.  Elmo.  247 

Sicilian  fleet  should  set  sail.  He  was  one  who  would 
ask  no  one  to  run  into  perils  that  he  would  not 
share,  and  he  was  bent  on  throwing  himself  into  St 
Elmo,  and  being  rather  buried  under  the  ruins  than 
to  leave  the  Mussulmans  free  a  moment  sooner  than 
could  be  helped  to  attack  the  Borgo  and  Castle  of 
St  Angelo.  But  the  whole  Chapter  of  Knights  en- 
treated him  to  abstain,  and  so  many  volunteered  for 
this  desperate  service,  that  the  only  difficulty  was  to 
choose  among  them.  Indeed,  La  Cerda  had  done 
the  garrison  injustice  ;  no  one's  heart  was  failing 
but  his  own  ;  and  the  next  day  there  was  a  respite, 
for  a  cannon-shot  from  St  Angelo  falling  into  the 
enemy's  camp,  shattered  a  stone,  a  splinter  of  which 
struck  clown  Piali  Pasha.  He  was  thought  dead, 
and  the  camp  and  fleet  were  in  confusion,  which 
enabled  the  Grand  Master  to  send  off  his  nephew, 
the  Chevalier  de  la  Valette  Cornusson,  to  Messina, 
to  entreat  the  Viceroy  of  Sicily  to  hasten  to  their 
relief ;  to  give  him  a  chart  of  the  entrance  of  the 
harbor,  and  a  list  of  signals,  and  to  desire  in  especial 
that  two  ships  belonging  to  the  Order,  and  filled 
with  the  knights  who  had  hurried  from  distant  lands 
too  late  for  the  beginning  of  the  siege,  might  come 
to  him  at  once.  To  this  the  Viceroy  returned  a 
promise  that  at  latest  the  fleet  should  sail  on  the 
15th  of  June,  adding  an  exhortation  to  him  at  all 
sacrifices  to  maintain  St.  Elmo.  This  reply  the 
Grand  Master  transmitted  to  the  garrison,  and  it 
nerved  them  to  fight  even  with  more  patience  and 
self-sacrifice.  A  desperate  sally  was  led  by  the 
Chevalier  de  Medran,  who  fought  his  way  into  the 
trenches  where  the  Turkish  cannon  were  planted, 
and  at  first  drove  all  before  him  ;  but  the  Janissaries 
rallied  and  forced  back  the  Christians  out  of  the 
trenches.  Unfortunately  there  was  a  high  wind, 
which  drove  the  smoke  of  the  artillery  down  on  the 
counter-scarp  (the  slope  of  masonry  facing  the  ram- 
part), and  while  it  was  thus  hidden  from  the  Chris- 


248  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

tians,  the  Turks  succeeded  in  effecting  a  lodgment 
there,  fortifying  themselves  with  trees  and  sacks  of 
earth  and  wool.  When  the  smoke  cleared  off,  the 
knights  were  dismayed  to  see  the  horse-tail  ensigns 
of  the  Janissaries  so  near  them,  and  cannon  already 
prepared  to  batter  the  ravelin,  or  outwork  protecting 
the  gateway. 

La  Cerda  proposed  to  blow  this  fortification  up, 
and  abandon  it,  but  no  other  knight  would  hear  of 
deserting  an  inch  of  wall  while  it  could  yet  be  held. 

But  again  the  sea  was  specked  with  white  sails 
from  the  southeast.  Six  galleys  came  from  Egypt, 
bearing  900  troops,  —  Mameluke  horsemen,  troops 
recruited  much  like  the  Janissaries  and  quite  as  for- 
midable. These  ships  were  commanded  by  Ulucciali, 
an  Italian,  who  had  denied  his  faith  and  become  a  Ma- 
hometan, and  was  thus  regarded  with  especial  hor- 
ror by  the  chivalry  of  Malta.  And  the  swarm  thick- 
ened for  a  few  days  more  ;  like  white-winged  and 
beautiful  but  venomous  insects  hovering  round 
their  prey,  the  graceful  Moorish  galleys  and  galliots 
came  up  from  the  south,  bearing  600  dark-visaged, 
white-turbaned,  lithe-limbed  Moors  from  Tripoli, 
under  Dragut  himself.  The  thunders  of  all  the  guns 
roaring  forth  their  salute  of  honor,  told  the  garrison 
that  the  most  formidable  enemy  of  all  had  arrived. 
And  now  their  little  white  rock  was  closed  in  on 
every  side,  with  nothing  but  its  own  firmness  to  be 
its  aid. 

Dragut  did  not  approve  of  having  begun  with  at- 
tacking Fort  St.  Elmo  ;  he  thought  that  the  inland 
towns  should  have  been  first  taken,  and  Mustafa  of- 
fered to  discontinue  the  attack,  but  this  the  Corsair 
said  could  not  now  be  done  with  honor,  and  under 
him  the  attack  went  on  more  furiously  than  ever. 
He  planted  a  battery  of  four  guns  on  the  point 
guarding  the  entrance  of  Marza  Muscat,  the  other 
gulf,  and  the  spot  has  ever  since  been  called  Dra- 
gut's    Point.     Strange   to   say,  the    soldiers   in    the 


Fort  St.  Elmo.  249 

ravelin  fell  asleep,  and  thus  enabled  the  enemy  to 
scramble  up  by  climbing  on  one  another's  shoulders 
and  enter  the  place.  As  soon  as  the  alarm  was 
given,  the  Bailiff  of  Negropont,  with  a  number  of 
knights,  rushed  into  the  ravelin,  and  fought  with  the 
utmost  desperation,  but  all  in  vain  ;  they  never  suc- 
ceeded in  dislodging  the  Turks,  and  had  almost  been 
followed  by  them  into  the  fort  itself.  Only  the  ut- 
most courage  turned  back  the  enemy  at  last,  and,  it 
was  believed,  with  a  loss  of  3,000.  The  Order  had 
twenty  knights  and  a  hundred  soldiers  killed,  with 
many  more  wounded.  One  knight  named  Abel  de 
Bridiers,  who  was  shot  through  the  body,  refused  to 
be  assisted  by  his  brethren,  saying,  "  Reckon  me 
no  more  among  the  living.  You  will  be  doing  bet- 
ter by  defending  our  brothers."  He  dragged  him- 
self away,  and  was  found  dead  before  the  altar 
in  the  castle  chapel.  The  other  wrounded  were 
brought  back  to  the  Borgo  in  boats  at  night,  and  La 
Cerda  availed  himself  of  a  slight  scratch  to  come 
with  them  and  remain,  though  the  Bailiff  of  Negro- 
pont, a  very  old  man,  and  with  a  really  severe 
wound,  returned  as  soon  as  it  had  been  dressed,  to- 
gether with  the  reinforcements  sent  to  supply  the 
place  of  those  who  had  been  slain.  The  Grand  Mas- 
ter, on  finding  how  small  had  been  La  Cerda's  hurt, 
put  him  in  prison  for  several  days  ;  but  he  was  af- 
terwards released,  and  met  his  death  bravely  on  the 
ramparts  of  the  Borgo. 

The  15th  of  June  was  passed.  Nothing  would 
make  the  Sicilian  Viceroy  move,  nor  even  let  the 
war-ships  of  the  Order  sail  with  their  own  knights, 
and  the  little  fort  that  had  been  supposed  unable  to 
hold  out  a  week,  had  for  full  a  month  resisted  every 
attack  of  the  enemy. 

At  last  Dragut,  though  severely  wounded  while 
reconnoitring,  set  up  a  battery  on  the  hill  of  Calca- 
ra,  so  as  to  command  the  strait,  and  hinder  the  sue- 


250  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

cors  from  being  sent  across  to  the  fort.  The  wound- 
ed were  laid  down  in  the  chapel  and  the  vaults,,  and 
well  it  was  for  them  that  each  knight  of  the  Order 
could  be  surgeon  and  nurse.  One  good  swimmer 
crossed  under  cover  of  darkness  with  their  last  mes- 
sages, and  La  Valette  prepared  five  armed  boats  for 
their  relief;  but  the  enemy  had  fifteen  already  in  the 
bay,  and  communication  was  entirely  cut  off.  It 
was  the  night  before  the  23d  of  June  when  these 
brave  men  knew  their  time  was  come.  All  night 
they  prayed,  and  prepared  themselves  to  die  by  giv- 
ing one  another  the  last  rites  of  the  Church,  and  at 
daylight  each  repaired  to  his  post,  those  who  could 
not  walk  being  carried  in  chairs,  and  sat  ghastly 
figures,  sword  in  hand,  on  the  brink  of  the  breach, 
ready  for  their  last  fight. 

By  the  middle  of  the  day  every  Christian  knight  in 
St.  Elmo  had  died  upon  his  post,  and  the  little  heap 
of  ruins  was  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  Dragut 
was  dying  of  his  wound,  but  just  lived  to  hear  that 
the  place  was  won,  when  it  had  cost  the  Sultan 
8,000  men  !  Well  might  Mustafa  say,  "  If  the  son 
has  cost  us  so  much,  what  will  the  father  do  ? " 

It  would  be  too  long  to  tell  the  glorious  story  of 
the  three  months'  further  siege  of  the  Borgo.  The 
patience  and  the  resolution  of  the  knights  was  un- 
shaken, though  daily  there  were  tremendous  battles, 
and  week  after  week  passed  by  without  the  tardy 
relief  from  Spain.  It  is  believed  that  Philip  II. 
thought  that  the  Turks  would  exhaust  themselves 
against  the  Order,  and  forbade  his  Viceroy  to  haz- 
ard his  fleet ;  but  at  last  he  was  shamed  into  per- 
mitting the  armament  to  be  fitted  out.  Two  hun- 
dred knights  of  St.  John  were  waiting  at  Messina, 
in  despair  at  being  unable  to  reach  their  brethren 
in  their  deadly  strait,  and  constantly  haunting  the 
Viceroy's  palace,  till  he  grew  impatient,  and  declared 
they  did  not  treat  him  respectfully  enough,  nor  call 
him  "Excellency." 


Fort  St.  Elmo.  251 

"  Senor,"  said  one  of  them,  "  if  you  will  only  bring 
us  in  time  to  save  the  Order,  I  will  call  you  any- 
thing you  please,  excellency,  highness,  or  majesty 
itself." 

At  last,  on  the  1st  of  September,  the  fleet  really 
set  sail,  but  it  hovered  cautiously  about  on  the  far- 
ther side  of  the  island,  and  only  landed  6,000 
men  and  then  returned  to  Sicily.  However,  the  tid- 
ings of  its  approach  had  spread  such  a  panic  among 
the  Turkish  soldiers,  who  were  worn  out  and  ex- 
hausted by  their  exertions,  that  they  hastily  raised 
the  siege,  abandoned  their  heavy  artillery,  and,  re- 
moving their  garrison  from  Fort  St  Elmo,  re-em- 
barked in  haste  and  confusion.  No  sooner,  how- 
ever, was  the  Pasha  in  his  ship  than  he  became 
ashamed  of  his  precipitation,  more  especially  when 
he  learned  that  the  relief  that  had  put  16,000  men 
to  flight  consisted  only  of  6,000,  and  he  resolved  to 
land  and  give  battle  ;  but  his  troops  were  angry  and 
unwilling,  and  were  actually  driven  out  of  their  ships 
by  blows. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Grand  Master  had  again 
placed  a  garrison  in  St.  Elmo,  which  the  Turks 
had  repaired  and  restored,  and  once  more  the 
cross  of  St.  John  waved  on  the  end  of  its  tongue  of 
land  to  greet  the  Spanish  allies.  A  battle  was 
fought  with  the  newly-arrived  troops,  in  which  the 
Turks  were  defeated  ;  they  again  took  to  their  ships, 
and  the  Viceroy  of  Sicily,  from  Syracuse,  heheld 
their  fleet  in  full  sail  for  the  East. 

Meantime,  the  gates  of  the  Borgo  were  thrown 
open  to  receive  the  brethren  and  friends  who  had 
been  so  long  held  back  from  coming  to  the  relief  of 
the  home  of  the  Order.  Four  months'  siege,  by  the 
heaviest  artillery  in  Europe,  had  shattered  the  walls 
and  destroyed  the  streets,  till,  to  the  eyes  of  the  new 
comers,  the  town  looked  like  a  place  taken  by  as- 
sault, and  sacked  by  the  enemy  ;  and  of  the  whole 


252  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

garrison,  knights,  soldiers,  and  sailors,  all  together, 
only  six  hundred  were  left  able  to  bear  arms,  and 
they  for  the  most  part  covered  with  wounds.  The 
Grand  Master  and  his  surviving  knights  could 
hardly  be  recognized,  so  pale  and  altered  were  they 
by  wounds  and  excessive  fatigue  ;  their  hair,  beards, 
dress,  and  armor  showing  that  for  four  full  months 
they  had  hardly  undressed,  or  lain  down  unarmed. 
The  new  comers  could  not  retain  their  tears,  but  all 
together  proceeded  to  the  church  to  return  thanks 
for  the  conclusion  of  their  perils  and  afflictions.  Re- 
joicings extended  all  over  Europe,  above  all  in  Ita- 
ly, Spain,  and  southern  France,  where  the  Order  of 
St.  John  was  the  sole  protection  against  the  de- 
scents of  the  Barbary  corsairs.  The  Pope  sent  La 
Valette  a  cardinal's  hat,  but  he  would  not  accept  it, 
as  unsuited  to  his  office;  Philip  II.  presented  him 
with  a  jewelled  sword  and  dagger.  Some  thousand 
unadorned  swords  a  few  months  sooner  would  have 
been  a  better  testimony  to  his  constancy,  and  that 
of  the  brave  men  whose  lives  Spain  had  wasted  by 
her  cruel  delays. 

The  Borgo  was  thenceforth  called  Cita.  Vittoriosa  ; 
but  La  Valette  decided  on  building  the  chief  town 
of  the  isle  on  the  peninsula  of  Fort  St.  Elmo,  and 
in  this  work  he  spent  his  latter  days,  till  he  was 
killed  by  a  sun-stroke,  while  superintending  the  new 
works  of  the  city  which  is  deservedly  known  by  his 
name,  as  Valetta. 

The  Order  of  St.  John  lost  much  of  its  character, 
and  was  finally  swept  from  Malta  in  the  general 
confusion  of  the  Revolutionary  wars.  The  British 
crosses  now  float  in  the  harbor  of  Malta ;  but  the 
steep  white  rocks  must  ever  bear  the  memory  of  the 
self-devoted  endurance  of  the  beleaguered  knights, 
and,  foremost  of  all,  of  those  who  perished  in  St,  El- 
mo, in  order  that  the  signal  banner  might  to  the 
very  last  summon  the  tardy  Viceroy  to  their  aid. 


THE  VOLUNTARY   CONVICT. 
1622. 

IN  the  early  summer  of  the  year  1605,  a  coasting 
vessel  was  sailing  along  the  beautiful  Gulf  of 
Lyons,  the  wind  blowing  gently  in  the  sails,  the 
blue  Mediterranean  lying  glittering  to  the  south, 
and  the  curved  line  of  the  French  shore  rising  in 
purple  and  green  tints,  dotted  with  white  towns  and 
villages.  Suddenly  three  light,  white-sailed  ships 
appeared  in  the  offing,  and  the  captain's  practised 
eye  detected  that  the  wings  that  bore  them  were 
those  of  a  bird  of  prey.  He  knew  them  for  African 
brigantines,  and  though  he  made  all  sail,  it  was 
impossible  to  run  into  a  French  port,  as  on,  on  they 
came,  not  entirely  depending  on  the  wind,  but,  like 
steamers,  impelled  by  unseen  powers  within  them. 
Alas  !  that  power  was  not  the  force  of  innocent 
steam,  but  the  arms  of  Christian  rowers  chained  to 
the  oar.  Sure  as  the  pounce  of  a  hawk  upon  a  par- 
tridge was  the  swoop  of  the  corsairs  upon  the  French 
vessel.  A  signal  to  surrender  followed,  but  the 
captain  boldly  refused,  and  armed  his  crew,  bidding 
them  stand  to  their  guns.  But  the  fight  was  too  un- 
equal, the  brave  little  ship  was  disabled,  the  pirates 
boarded  her,  and,  after  a  sharp  fight  on  deck,  three 
of  the  crew  lay  dead,  all  the  rest  were  wounded,  and 
the  vessel  was  the  prize  of  the  pirates.     The  cap- 


254  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

tain  was  at  once  killed,  in  revenge  for  his  resistance, 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  crew  and  passengers  were 
put  in  chains.  Among  these  passengers  was  a 
young  priest  named  Vincent  de  Paul,  the  son  of  a 
farmer  in  Languedoc,  who  had  used  his  utmost  en- 
deavors to  educate  his  son  for  the  ministry,  even 
selling  the  oxen  from  the  plough  to  provide  for  the 
college  expenses.  A  small  legacy  had  just  fallen  to 
the  young  man,  from  a  relation  who  had  died  at 
Marseilles  ;  he  had  been  thither  to  receive  it,  and 
had  been  persuaded  by  a  friend  to  return  home  by 
sea.  And  this  was  the  result  of  the  pleasant  voyage. 
The  legacy  was  the  prey  of  the  pirates,  and  Vincent, 
severely  wounded  by  an  arrow,  and  heavily  chained, 
lay  half  stifled  in  a  corner  of  the  hold  of  the  ship, 
a  captive  probably  for  life  to  the  enemies  of  the 
faith.  It  was  true  that  France  had  scandalized  Eu- 
rope by  making  peace  with  the  Dey  of  Tunis,  but 
this  was  a  trifle  to  the  corsairs  ;  and  when,  after 
seven  days'  farther  cruising,  they  put  into  the  har- 
bor of  Tunis,  they  drew  up  an  account  of  their 
capture,  calling  it  a  Spanish  vessel,  to  prevent  the 
French  Consul  from  claiming  the  prisoners. 

The  captives  had  the  coarse  blue  and  white  gar- 
ments of  slaves  given  them,  and  were  walked  five 
or  six  times  through  the  narrow  streets  and  bazaars 
of  Tunis,  by  way  of  exhibition.  They  were  then 
brought  back  to  their  ship,  and  purchasers  came 
thither  to  bargain  for  them.  They  were  examined 
at  their  meals,  to  see  if  they  had  good  appetites  ; 
their  sides  were  felt  like  those  of  oxen  ;  their  teeth 
looked  at  like  those  of  horses  ;  their  wounds  were 
searched,  and  they  were  made  to  run  and  walk  to 
show  the  play  of  their  limbs.  All  this  Vincent  en- 
dured with  patient  submission,  constantly  supported 
by  the  thought  of  Him  who  took  upon  Him  the 
form  of  a  servant  for  our  sakes  ;  and  he  did  his 
best,  ill  as  he  was,  to  give  his  companions  the  same 
confidence. 


The   Voluntary  Convict.  255 

Weak  and  unwell,  Vincent  was  sold  cheap  to  a 
fisherman  ;  but  in  his  new  service  it  soon  became 
apparent  that  the  sea  made  him  so  ill  as  to  be  of  no 
use,  so  he  was  sold  again  to  one  of  the  Moorish 
physicians,  the  like  of  whom  may  still  be  seen, 
smoking  their  pipes  sleepily,  under  their  white  tur- 
bans, cross-legged,  among  the  drugs  in  their  shop- 
windows,  —  these  being  small  open  spaces  beneath 
the  beautiful  stone  lace-work  of  the  Moorish  lattices. 
The  physician  was  a  great  chemist  and  distiller,  and 
for  four  years  had  been  seeking  the  philosopher's 
stone,  which  was  supposed  to  be  the  secret  of  mak- 
ing gold.  He  found  his  slave's  learning  and  intelli- 
gence so  useful  that  he  grew  very  fond  of  him,  and 
tried  hard  to  persuade  him  to  turn  Mahometan, 
offering  him  not  only  liberty,  but  the  inheritance  of 
his  wealth,  and  the  secrets  that  he  had  discovered. 

The  Christian  priest  felt  the  temptation  sufficiently 
to  be  always  grateful  for  the  grace  that  had  carried 
him  through  it.  At  the  end  of  a  year,  the  old  doc- 
tor died,  and  his  nephew  sold  Vincent  again.  His 
next  master  was  a  native  of  Nice,  who  had  not  held 
out  against  the  temptation  to  renounce  his  faith  in 
order  to  avoid  a  life  of  slavery,  but  had  become  a 
renegade,  and  had  the  charge  of  one  of  the  farms 
of  the  Dey  of  Tunis.  The  farm  was  on  a  hillside 
in  an  extremely  hot  and  exposed  region,  and  Vin- 
cent suffered  much  from  being  there  set  to  field 
labor,  but  he  endured  all  without  a  murmur.  His 
master  had  three  wives,  and  one  of  them,  who  was 
of  Turkish  birth,  used  often  to  come  out  and  talk 
to  him,  asking  him  many  questions  about  his  relig- 
ion. Sometimes  she  asked  him  to  sing,  and  he 
would  then  chant  the  psalm  of  the  captive  Jews : 
"  By  the  waters  of  Babylon  we  sat  down  and  wept  "; 
and  others  of  the  "  songs  "  of  his  Zion.  The  wo- 
man at  last  told  her  husband  that  he  must  have 
been   wrong  in  forsaking  a  religion  of  which  her 


256  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

slave  had  told  her  such  wonderful  things.  Her 
words  had  such  an  effect  on  the  renegade  that  he 
sought  the  slave,  and  in  conversation  with  him  soon 
came  to  a  full  sense  of  his  own  miserable  position 
as  an  apostate.  A  change  of  religion  on  the  part 
of  a  Mahometan  is,  however,  always  visited  with 
death,  both  to  the  convert  and  his  instructor.  An 
Algerine,  who  was  discovered  to  have  become  a 
Christian,  was  about  this  time  said  to  have  been 
walled  up  at  once  in  the  fortifications  he  had  been 
building  ;  and  the  story  has  been  confirmed  by  the 
recent  discovery,  by  the  French  engineers,  of  the 
remains  of  a  man  within  a  huge  block  of  clay,  that 
had  taken  a  perfect  cast  of  his  Moorish  features, 
and  of  the  surface  of  his  garments,  and  even  had  his 
black  hair  adhering  to  it.  Vincent's  master,  terri- 
fied at  such  perils,  resolved  to  make  his  escape  in 
secret  with  his  slave.  It  is  disappointing  to  hear 
nothing  of  the  wife  ;  and  not  to  know  whether  she 
would  not  or  could  not  accompany  them.  All  we 
know  is,  that  master  and  slave  trusted  themselves 
alone  to  a  small  bark,  and,  safely  crossing  the  Med- 
iterranean, landed  at  Aigues  Mortes,  on  the  28th  of 
June,  1607;  and  that  the  renegade  at  once  abjured 
his  false  faith,  and  soon  after  entered  a  brotherhood 
at  Rome,  whose  office  it  was  to  wait  on  the  sick  in 
hospitals. 

This  part  of  Vincent  de  Paul's  life  has  been  told 
at  length  because  it  shows  from  what  the  Knights 
of  St.  John  strove  to  protect  the  inhabitants  of  the 
coasts.  We  next  find  Vincent  visiting  at  a  hospital 
at  Paris,  where  he  gave  such  exceeding  comfort  to 
the  patients  that  all  with  one  voice  declared  him  a 
messenger  from  heaven. 

He  afterwards  became  a  tutor  in  the  family  of 
the  Count  de  Joigni,  a  very  excellent  man,  who  was 
easily  led  by  him  to  many  good  works.  M.  de  Joigni 
was  inspector-general  of  the  "Galeres,"  or  Hulks, 


The   Vohtntary  Co?ivict.  257 

the  ships  in  the  chief  harbors  of  France,  such  as 
Brest  and  Marseilles,  where  the  convicts,  closely 
chained,  were  kept  to  hard  labor,  and  often  made  to 
toil  at  the  oar,  like  the  slaves  of  the  Africans.  Go- 
ing the  round  of  these  prison-ships,  the  horrible 
state  of  the  convicts,  their  half-naked  misery,  and 
still  more  their  fiendish  ferocity,  went  to  the  heart 
of  the  Count  and  of  the  Abbe  de  Paul ;  and,  with 
full  authority  from  the  inspector,  the  tutor  worked 
among  these  wretched  beings  with  such  good  effect 
that,  on  his  doings  being  represented  to  the  king, 
Louis  XIII.,  he  was  made  almoner  general  to  the 
galleys. 

While  visiting  those  at  Marseilles,  he  was  much 
struck  by  the  broken-down  looks  and  exceeding  sor- 
rowfulness of  one  of  the  convicts.  He  entered  into 
conversation  with  him,  and,  after  many  kind  words, 
persuaded  him  to  tell  his  troubles.  His  sorrow  was 
far  less  for  his  own  condition  than  for  the  misery  to 
which  his  absence  must  needs  reduce  his  wife  and 
children.  And  what  was  Vincent's  reply  to  this  ? 
His  action  was  so  striking  that,  though  in  itself  it 
could  hardly  be  safe  to  propose  it  as  an  example,  it 
must  be  mentioned  as  the  very  height  of  self-sacri- 
fice. 

He  absolutely  changed  places  with  the  convict 
Probably  some  arrangement  was.  made  with  the  im- 
mediate jailor  of  the  gang,  who,  by  the  exchange  of 
the  priest  for  the  convict,  could  make  up  his  full  tale 
of  men  to  show  when  his  numbers  were  counted. 
At  any  rate  the  prisoner  went  free,  and  returned  to 
his  home,  whilst  Vincent  wore  a  convict's  chain,  did 
a  convict's  work,  lived  on  convict  fare,  and  what 
was  worse,  had  only  convict  society.  He  was  soon 
sought  out  and  released,  but  the  hurts  he  had  re- 
ceived from  the  pressure  of  the  chain  lasted  all  his 
life.  He  never  spoke  of  this  event ;  it  was  kept  a 
strict  secret ;  and  once  when  he  had  referred  to  it 
17 


258  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds, 

in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  he  became  so  much  afraid  that 
the  story  would  become  known  that  he  sent  to  ask 
for  the  letter  back  again.  It  was,  however,  not  re- 
turned, and  it  makes  the  fact  certain.  It  would  be  a 
dangerous  precedent  if  prison  chaplains  were  to 
change  places  with  their  charges  ;  and,  beautiful  as 
was  Vincent's  spirit,  the  act  can  hardly  be  justified  ; 
but  it  should  also  be  remembered  that  among  the 
galleys  of  France  there  were  then  many  who  had 
been  condemned  for  resistance  to  the  arbitrary  will 
of  Cardinal  de  Richelieu,  men  not  necessarily  cor- 
rupt and  degraded  like  the  thieves  and  murderers 
with  whom  they  were  associated.  At  any  rate,  M. 
de  Joigni  did  not  displace  the  almoner,  and  Vincent 
worked  on  the  consciences  of  the  convicts  with  in- 
finitely more  force  for  having  been  for  a  time  one  of 
themselves.  Many  and  many  were  won  back  to 
penitence,  a  hospital  was  founded  for  them,  better 
regulations  established,  and,  for  a  time,  both  prisons 
and  galleys  were  wonderfully  improved,  although 
only  for  the  lifetime  of  the  good  inspector  and  the 
saintly  almoner.  But  who  shall  say  how  many  souls 
were  saved  in  those  years  by  these  men  who  did 
what  they  could  ? 

The  rest  of  the  life  of  Vincent  de  Paul  would  be 
too  lengthy  to  tell  here,  though  acts  of  beneficence 
and  self-devotion  shine  out  in  glory  at  each  step. 
The  work  by  which  he  is  chiefly  remembered  is  his 
establishment  of  the  Order  of  Sisters  of  Charity, 
the  excellent  women  who  have  for  two  hundred  years 
been  the  prime  workers  in  every  charitable  task  in 
France,  nursing  the  sick,  teaching  the  ycung,  tend- 
ing deserted  children,  ever  to  be  found  where  there 
is  distress  or  pain. 

But  of  these,  and  of  his  charities,  we  will  not 
here  speak,  nor  even  of  his  influence  for  good  on 
the  king  and  queen  themselves.  The  whole  tenor 
of  his  life  was   "golden"  in  one  sense,  and  if  we 


The  Voluntary   Convict.  259 

told  all  his  golden  deeds  they  would  fill  an  entire 
book.  So  we  will  only  wait  to  tell  how  he  showed 
his  remembrance  of  what  he  had  gone  through  in 
his  African  captivity.  The  redemption  of  the  pris- 
oners there  might  have  seem3d  his  first  thought, 
but  that  he  did  so  much  in  other  quarters.  At  dif- 
ferent times,  with  the  alms  that  he  collected,  and  out 
of  the  revenues  of  his  benefices,  he  ransomed  no 
less  than  twelve  hundred  slaves  from  their  captivity. 
At  one  time  the  French  Consul  at  Tunis  wrote  to 
him  that,  for  a  certain  sum,  a  large  number  might  be 
set  free,  and  he  raised  enough  to  release  not  only 
these,  but  seventy  more,  and  he  further  wrought 
upon  the  king  to  obtain  the  consent  of  the  Dey  of 
Tunis  that  a  party  of  Christian  clergy  should  be  per- 
mitted to  reside  in  the  consul's  house,  and  to  minis- 
ter to  the  souls  and  bodies  of  the  Christian  slaves, 
of  whom  there  were  6,ooo  in  Tunis  alone,  besides 
those  in  Algiers,  Tangier,  and  Tripoli  ! 

Permission  was  gained,  and  a  mission  of  Lazarist 
brothers  arrived.  This,  too,  was  an  Order  founded 
by  Vincent,  consisting  of  priestly  nurses  like  the 
Hospitaliers,  though  not  like  them  warriors.  They 
came  in  the  midst  of  a  dreadful  visitation  of  the 
plague,  and  nursed  and  tended  the  sick,  both  Chris- 
tians and  Mahometans,  with  fearless  devotion,  day 
and  night,  till  they  won  the  honor  and  love  of  the 
Moors  themselves. 

The  good  Vincent  de  Paul  died  in  the  year  1660, 
but  his  brothers  of  St.  Lazarus  and  Sisters  of  Char- 
ity still  tread  in  the  paths  he  marked  out  for  them, 
and  his  name  scarcely  needs  the  saintly  epithet  that 
his  Church  has  affixed  to  it  to  stand  among  the  most 
honorable  of  charitable  men. 

The  cruel  deeds  of  the  African  pirates  were  never 
wholly  checked  till  18 16,  when  the  united  fleets  of 
England  and  France  destroyed  the  old  den  of  cor- 
sairs at  Algiers,  which  has  since  become  a  French 
colony. 


THE  HOUSEWIVES  OF  LOWEXBURG. 


1631. 

BRAVE  deeds  have  been  done  by  the  burgher 
dames  of  some  of  the  German  cities  collectively. 
Without  being  of  the  first  class  of  Golden  Deed's, 
there  is  something  in  the  exploit  of  the  dames  of 
Weinsberg  so  quaint  and  so  touching,  that  it  can- 
not be  omitted  here. 

It  was  in  the  first  commencement  of  the  long  con- 
test known  as  the  strife  between  the  Guelfs  and^Ghib- 
ellines — before  even  these  had  become  the  party 
words  for  the  Pope"s  and  the  Emperor's  friends,  and 
when  they  only  applied  to  the  troops  of  Bavaria  and 
Swabia  —  that,  in  1 141.  Wolf.  Duke  of  Bavaria,  was 
besieged  in  his  castle  of  Weinsberg.  by  Friedrich, 
Duke  of  Swabia,  brother  to  the  reigning  emperor, 
Konrad  III. 

The  siege  lasted  long,  but  Wolf  was  obliged  at 
last  to  offer  to  surrender  ;  and  the  Emperor  granted 
him  permission  to  depart  in  safety.  But  his  wife 
did  not  trust  to  this  fair  offer.  She  had  reason  to 
believe  that  Konrad  had  a  peculiar  enmity  to  her 
husband  ;  and  on  his  coming  to  take  possession  of 
the  castle,  she  sent  to  him  to  entreat  him  to  give 
her  a  safe  conduct  for  herself  and  all  the  other  wo- 
men in  the  garrison,  that  they  might  come  out  with 
as  much  of  their  valuables  as  they  could  carry. 
This  was  freely  granted,  and  presently  the' castle 


The  Housewives  of  Lowenburg.  261 

gates  opened.-  From  beneath  them  came  the  ladies, 
—  but  in  strange  guise.  No  gold  nor  jewels  were 
carried  by  them,  but  each  one  was  bending  under 
the  weight  of  her  husband,  whom  she  thus  hoped 
to  secure  from  the  vengeance  of  the  Ghibellines. 
Konrad,  who  was  really  a  generous  and  merciful 
man,  is  said  to  have  been  affected  to  tears  by  this 
extraordinary  performance ;  he  hastened  to  assure 
the  ladies  of  the  perfect  safety  of  their  lords,  and 
that  the  gentlemen  might  dismount  at  once,  secure 
both  of  life  and  freedom.  He  invited  them  all  to  a 
banquet,  and  made  peace  with  the  Duke  of  Bavaria 
on  terms  much  more  favorable  to  the  Guelfs  than 
the  rest  of  his  party  had  been  willing  to  allow.  The 
castle  mount  was  thenceforth  called  no  longer  the 
Vine  Hill,  but  the  Hill  of  Weibertreue,  or  woman's 
fidelity.  We  will  not  invidiously  translate  it  wo- 
man's truth,  for  there  was  in  the  transaction  some- 
thing of  a  subterfuge  ;  and  it  must  be  owned  that 
the  ladies  tried  to  the  utmost  the  knightly  respect 
for  womankind. 

The  good  women  of  Lowenburg,  who  were  but 
citizens'  wives,  seem  to  us  more  worthy  of  admira- 
tion for  constancy  to  their  faith,  shown  at  a  time 
when  they  had  little  to  aid  them.  It  was  such  con- 
stancy as  makes  martyrs  ;  and  though  the  trial 
stopped  short  of  this,  there  is  something  in  the 
homeliness  of  the  whole  scene,  and  the  feminine 
form  of  passive  resistance,  that  makes  us  so  much 
honor  and  a  Jmire  the  good  women  that  we  cannot 
refrain  from  telling  the  story. 

It  was  in  the  year  1631,  in  the  midst  of  the  long 
Thirty  Years'  War  between  Roman  Catholics  and 
Protestants,  which  finally  decided  that  each  state 
should  have  its  own  religion,  Lowenburg,  a  city  in 
Silesia,  originally  Protestant,  had  passed  into  the 
hands  of  the  Emperor's  Roman  Catholic  party.  It 
was  a  fine  old  German  city,  standing  amid  woods 


262  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

and  meadows,  fortified  with  strong  walls  surrounded 
by  a  moat,  and  with  gate-towers  to  protect  the  en- 
trance. 

In  the  centre  was  a  large  market-place,  called  the 
Ring,  into  which  looked  the  Council-house  and  four- 
teen inns,  or  places  of  traffic,  for  the  cloth  that  was 
woven  in  no  less  than  three  hundred  factories.  The 
houses  were  of  stone,  with  gradually-projecting  sto- 
ries to  the  number  of  four  or  five,  surmounted  with 
pointed  gables.  The  ground  floors  had  once  had 
trellised  porches,  but  these  had  teen  found  incon- 
venient and  were  removed,  and  the  lower  story  con- 
sisted of  a  large  hall,  and  strong  vault,  with  a  spa- 
cious room  behind  it  containing  a  baking-oven,  and 
a  staircase  leading  to  a  wooden  gallery,  where  the 
family  used  to  dine.  It  seems  they  slept  in  the 
room  below,  though  they  had  up  stairs  a  handsome 
wainscoted  apartment. 

Very  rich  and  flourishing  had  the  Lowenburgers 
always  been,  and  their  walls  were  quite  sufficient  to 
turn  back  any  robber  barons,  or  even  any  invading 
Poles  ;  but  things  were  different  when  firearms 
were  in  use,  and  the  bands  of  mercenary  soldiers 
had  succeeded  the  feudal  army.  They  were  infi- 
nitely more  formidable  during  the  battle  or  siege  from 
their  discipline,  and  yet  more  dreadful  after  it  from 
their  want  of  discipline.  The  poor  Lowenburgers 
had  been  greatly  misused  :  their  Lutheran  pastors 
had  been  expelled  ;  all  the  superior  citizens  had 
either  fled  or  been  imprisoned  ;  two  hundred  and 
fifty  families  spent  the  summer  in  the  woods,  and  of 
those  who  remained  in  the  city,  the  men  had  for  the 
most  part  outwardly  conformed  to  the  Roman  Cath- 
olic Church.  Most  of  these  were  of  course  indiffer- 
ent at  heart,  and  they  had  found  places  in  the  town 
council  which  had  formerly  been  filled  by  more 
respectable  men.  However,  the  wives  had  almost 
all  remained  stanch  to  their  Lutheran  confession  ; 


The  Housewives  of  Lowenburg.  263 

they  had  followed  their  pastors  weeping  to  the  gates 
of  the  city,  loading  them  with  gifts,  and  they  has- 
tened at  every  opportunity  to  hear  their  preachings, 
or  obtain  baptism  for  their  children  at  the  Lutheran 
churches  in  the  neighborhood. 

The  person  who  had  the  upper  hand  in  the  Coun- 
cil was  one  Julius,  who  had  been  a  Franciscan  friar, 
but  was  a  desperate,  unscrupulous  fellow,  not  at  all 
like  a  monk.  Finding  that  it  was  considered  as  a 
reproach  that  the  churches  of  Lowenburg  were 
empty,  he  called  the  whole  Council  together  on  the 
9th  of  April,  1 63 1,  and  informed  them  that  the  wo- 
men must  be  brought  to  conformity,  or  else  there 
were  towers  and  prisons  for  them.  The  Burgomas- 
ter was  ill  in  bed,  but  the  Judge,  one  Elias  Seiler, 
spoke  up  at  once.  "If  we  have  been  able  to  bring 
the  men  into  the  right  path,  why  should  not  we  be 
able  to  deal  with  these  little  creatures  ? " 

Herr  Mesnel,  a  cloth-factor,  who  had  been  a  wid- 
ower six  weeks,  thought  it  would  be  hard  to  manage, 
though  he  quite  agreed  to  the  expedient,  saying,  "  It 
would  be  truly  good  if  man  and  wife  had  one  Creed 
and  one  Paternoster  ;  as » concerns  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments it  is  not  so  pressing."  (A  sentiment 
that  he  could  hardly  have  wished  to  see  put  in 
practice.) 

Another  councillor,  called  Schwob  Franze,  who 
had  lost  his  wife  a  few  days  before,  seems  to  have 
had  an  eye  to  the  future,  for  he  said  it  would  be  a 
pity  to  frighten  away  the  many  beautiful  maidens 
and  widows  there  were  among  the  Lutheran  women  ; 
but  on  the  whole  the  men  without  wives  were  much 
bolder  and  more  sanguine  of  success  than  the  mar- 
ried ones.  And  no  one  would  undertake  to  deal 
with  his  own  wife  privately,  so  it  ended  by  a  mes- 
sage being  sent  to  the  more  distinguished  ladies  to 
attend  the  Council. 

But  presently  up  came  tidings  that  not  merely 


264  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

these  few  dames,  whom  they  might  have  hoped  to 
overawe,  were  on  their  way,  tut  that  the  Judge's 
wife  and  the  Burgomaster's  were  the  first  pair  in  a 
procession  of  full  500  housewives,  who  were  walking 
sedately  up  the  stairs  to  the  Council  Hall  telcw  the 
chamber  where  the  dignitaries  were  assembled. 
This  was  not  by  any  means  what  had  been  ex- 
pected, and  the  message  was  sent  down  that  only 
the  chief  ladies  should  come  up.  "  No,"  replied  the 
Judge's  wife,  "  we  will  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  sep- 
arated." And  to  this  they  were  firm  ;  they  said,  as 
one  fared  all  should  fare  ;  and  the  Town  Clerk,  go- 
ing up  and  down  with  smooth  words,  received  no 
better  answer  than  this  from  the  Judge's  wife,  who, 
it  must  be  confessed,  was  less  ladylike  in  language 
than  resolute  in  faith. 

"  Nay,  nay,  dear  friend,  do  you  think  we  are  so 
simple  as  not  to  perceive  the  trick  by  which  you 
would  force  us  poor  women  against  our  conscience 
to  change  our  faith  ?  My  husband  and  the  priest 
have  not  been  consorting  together  all  these  days 
for  nothing  ;  they  have,  been  joined  together  almost 
day  and  night;  assuredly  they  have  either  toiled 
or  baked  a  devil,  which  they  may  eat  up  them- 
selves. I  shall  not  enter  there  !  Where  I  remain, 
my  train  and  following  will  remain  also  !  Women, 
is  this  your  will  ?  " 

"Yea,  yea,  let  it  be  so,"  they  said;  "we  will  all 
hold  together  as  one  man." 

His  honor  the  Town  Clerk  was  much  affrighted, 
and  went  hastily  back,  reporting  that  the  Council 
was  in  no  small  danger,  since  each  housewife  had 
her  bunch  of  keys  at  her  side  !  These  keys  were 
the  badge  of  a  wife's  dignity  and  authority,  and 
moreover  they  were  such  ponderous  articles  that 
they  sometimes  served  as  weapons.  A  Scottish 
virago  has  been  known  to  dash  out  the  brains  of  a 
wounded  enemy  with  her  keys  ;  and  the  intelligence 


The  Housewives  of  Lowenburg.  265 

that  the  good  dames  had  come  so  well  furnished, 
filled  the  Council  with  panic.  Dr.  Melchior  Hub- 
ner,  who  had  been  a  miller's  man,  wished  for  a  hun- 
dred musketeers  to  mow  them  down  ;  but  the  Town 
Clerk  proposed  that  all  the  Council  should  creep 
quietly  down  the  back  stairs,  lock  the  doors  on  the 
refractory  womankind,  and  make  their  escape. 

This  was  effected  as  silently  and  quickly  as  pos- 
sible, for  the  whole  Council  "  could  confess  to  a 
state  of  frightful  terror."  Presently  the  women 
peeped  out,  and  saw  the  stairs  bestrewn  with  hats, 
gloves,  and  handkerchiefs  ;  and  perceiving  how  they 
had  put  all  the  wisdom  and  authority  of  the  town 
to  the  rout,  there  was  great  merriment  among  them, 
though,  finding  themselves  locked  up,  the  more  ten- 
der-hearted began  to  pity  their  husbands  and  chil- 
dren. As  for  themselves,  their  maids  and  children 
came  round  the  Town  Hall,  to  hand  in  provisions 
to  them,  and  all  the  men  who  were  not  of  the  Coun- 
cil were  seeking  the  magistrates  to  know  what  their 
wives  had  done  to  be  thus  locked  up. 

The  Judge  sent  to  assemble  the  rest  of  the  Coun- 
cil at  his  house  ;  and  though  only  four  came,  the 
doorkeeper  ran  to  the  Town  Hall,  and  called  out  to 
his  wife  that  the  Council  had  reassembled,  and  they 
would  soon  be  let  out.  To  which,  however,  that 
very  shrewd  dame,  the  Judge's  wife,  answered 
with  great  composure,  "  Yea,  we  willingly  have 
patience,  as  we  are  quite  comfortable  here  ;  but  tell 
them  they  ought  to  inform  us  why  we  are  sum- 
moned and  confined  without  trial." 

She  well  knew  how  much  better  off  she  was  than 
her  husband  without  her.  He  paced  about  in  great 
perturbation,  and  at  last  called  for  something  to  eat. 
The  maid  served  up  a  dish  of  crab,  some  white 
bread,  and  butter  ;  but,  in  his  fury,  he  threw  all  the 
food  about  the  room  and  out  of  the  window,  away 
from  the  poor  children,  who  had  had  nothing  to  eat 


266  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

all  day,  and  at  last  he  threw  all  the  dishes  and 
saucepans  out  of  window.  At  last  the  Town  Clerk 
and  two  others  were  sent  to  do  their  best  to  per- 
suade the  women  that  they  had  misunderstood,  ■ — 
they  were  in  no  danger,  and  were  only  invited  to 
the  preachings  of  Holy  Week  •  and,  as  Master 
Daniel,  the  joiner,  added,  "  It  was  only  a  friendly 
conference.  It  is  not  customary  with  my  masters 
and  the  very  wise  Council  to  hang  a  man  before 
they  have   caught  him." 

This  opprobrious  illustration  raised  a  consider- 
able clamor  of  abuse  from  the  ruder  women  ;  but 
the  Judge's  and  burgomaster's  ladies  silenced  them, 
and  repeated  their  resolution  never  to  give  up  their 
faith  against  their  conscience.  Seeing  that  no  im- 
pression was  made  on  them,  and  that  nobody  knew 
what  to  do  without  them  at  home,  the  magistracy 
decided  that  they  should  be  released,  and  they  went 
quietly  home  ;  but  the  Judge  Seiler,  either  because 
he  had  been  foremost  in  the  business,  or  else  per- 
haps because  of  the  devastation  he  had  made  at 
home  among  the  pots  and  pans,  durst  not  meet  his 
wife,  but  sneaked  out  of  the  town,  and  left  her  with 
the  house  to  herself. 

The  priest  now  tried  getting  the  three  chief  ladies 
alone  together,  and  most  politely  begged  them  to 
conform  ;  but,  instead  of  arguing,  they  simply  an- 
swered, "  No  ;  we  were  otherwise  instructed  by  our 
parents  and  former  preachers." 

Then  he  begged  them  at  least  to  tell  the  other 
women  that  they  had  asked  for  fourteen  days  for 
consideration. 

"No,  dear  sir,"  they  replied;  "we  were  not 
taught  by  our  parents  to  tell  falsehoods,  and  we 
will  not  learn  it  from  you." 

Meanwhile  Schwob  Franze  rushed  to  the  burgo- 
master's bedside,  and  begged  him,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  to  prevent  the  priest  from  meddling  with  the 


The  Housewives  of  Lowenburg.  267 

women  ;  for  the  whole  bevy,  hearing  that  their  three 
leaders  were  called  before  the  priest,  were  collecting 
in  the  market-place,  keys,  bundles,  and  all ;  and  the 
panic  of  the  worthy  magistrates  was  renewed.  The 
burgomaster  sent  for  the  priest,  and  told  him  plainly, 
that  if  any  harm  befel  him  from  the  women,  the 
fault  would  be  his  own ;  and  thereupon  he  gave 
way,  the  ladies  went  quietly  home,  and  their  stout 
champions  laid  aside  their  bundles  and  keys,  — not 
out  of  reach,  however,  in  case  of  another  sum- 
mons. 

However,  the  priest  was  obliged,  next  year,  to 
leave  Lowenburg  in  disgrace,  for  he  was  a  man  of 
notoriously  bad  character ;  and  Dr.  Melchior  be- 
came a  soldier,  and  was  hanged  at  Prague. 

After  all,  such  a  confession  as  this  is  a  mere  trifle, 
not  only  compared  with  martyrdoms  of  old,  but  with 
the  constancy  with  which,  after  the  revocation  of 
the  Edict  of  Nantes,  the  Huguenots  endured  perse- 
cution,—  as,  for  instance,  the  large  number  of  wo- 
men who  were  imprisoned  for  thirty-eight  years  at 
Aigues  Mortes  ;  or,  again,  with  the  steady  resolu- 
tion of  the  persecuted  nuns  of  Port  Royal  against 
signing  the  condemnation  of  the  works  of  Jansen. 
Yet,  in  its  own  way,  the  feminine  resistance  of  these 
good  citizens'  wives,  without  being  equally  high- 
toned,  is  worthy  of  record,  and  far  too  full  of  char- 
acter to  be  passed  over. 


FATHERS    AND    SONS. 


B.C.    219  —  A.  D.    1642 —  1798. 

ONE  of  the  noblest  characters  in  old  Roman  his- 
tory is  the  first  Scipio  Africanus,  and  his  first 
appearance  is  in  a  most  pleasing  light,  at  the  battle 
of  the  river  Ticinus.  B.  c.  219,  when  the  Carthagini- 
ans, under  Hannibal,  had  just  completed  their  won- 
derful march  across  the  Alps,  and  surprised  the  Ro- 
mans in  Italy  itself. 

Young  Scipio  was  then  only  seventeen  years  of 
age,  and  had  gone  to  his  first  battle  under  the  eagles 
of  his  father,  the  Consul,  Publius  Cornelius  Scipio. 
It  was  an  unfortunate  battle  ;  the  Romans,  when 
exhausted  by  long  resistance  to  the  Spanish  horse 
in  Hannibal's  army,  were  taken  in  flank  by  the  Nu- 
midian  cavalry,  and  entirely  broken.  The  Consul 
rode  in  front  of  the  few  equites  he  could  keep  to- 
gether, striving  by  voice  and  example  to  rally  his 
forces,  until  he  was  pierced  by  one  of  the  long  Nu- 
midian  javelins,  and  fell  senseless  from  his  horse. 
The  Romans,  thinking  him  dead,  entirely  gave  way  ; 
but  his  young  son  would  not  leave  him.  and.  lifting 
him  on  his  horse,  succeeded  in  bringing  him  safe 
into  the  camp,  where  he  recovered,  and  his  after 
days  retrieved  the  honor  of  the  Roman  arms. 

The  story  of  a  brave  and  devoted  son  comes  to 
us  to  light  up  the  sadness  of  our  civil  wars  between 
Cavaliers  and  Roundheads  in  the  middle  of  the  sev- 


Fathers  and  Sons.  269 

enteenth  century.  It  was  soon  after  King  Charles 
had  raised  his  standard  at  Nottingham,  and  set  forth 
on  his  march  for  London,  that  it  became  evident 
that  the  Parliamentary  army,  under  the  Earl  of  Es- 
sex, intended  to  intercept  his  march.  The  king 
himself  was  with  the  army,  with  his  two  boys, 
Charles  and  James  ;  but  the  General-in-chief  was 
Robert  Bertie,  Earl  of  Lindsay,  a  brave  and  experi- 
enced old  soldier,  sixty  years  of  age,  godson  to 
Queen  Elizabeth,  and  to  her  two  favorite  Earls, 
whose  Christian  name  he  bore.  He  had  been  in 
her  Essex's  expedition  to  Cambridge,  and  had  after- 
wards served  in  the  Low  Countries,  under  Prince 
Maurice  of  Nassau  ;  for  the  long  Continental  wars 
had  throughout  King  James's  peaceful  reign  been 
treated  by  the  English  nobility  as  schools  of  arms, 
and  a  few  campaigns  were  considered  as  a  graceful 
finish  to  a  gentleman's  education.  As  soon  as  Lord 
Lindsay  had  begun  to  fear  that  the  disputes  between 
the  king  and  Parliament  must  end  in  war,  he  had 
begun  to  exercise  and  train  his  tenantry  in  Lincoln- 
shire and  Northamptonshire,  of  whom  he  had  formed 
a  regiment  of  infantry.  With  him  was  his  son  Mon- 
tagu Bertie,  Lord  Willoughby,  a  noble-looking  man 
of  thirty-two,  of  whom  it  was  said,  that  he  was  "as 
excellent  in  reality  as  others  in  pretence,"  and  that, 
thinking  "  that  the  cross  was  an  ornament  to  the 
crown,  and  much  more  to  the  coronet,  he  satisfied 
not  himself  with  the  mere  exercise  of  virtue,  but 
sublimated  it,  and  made  it  grace."  He  had  likewise 
seen  some  service  against  the  Spaniards  in  the 
Netherlands,  and  after  his  return  had  been  made  a 
captain  in  the  Lifeguards,  and  a  Gentleman  of  the 
Bedchamber.  Vandyke  has  left  portraits  of  the 
father  and  the  son  ;  the  one  a  bald-headed,  alert, 
precise-looking  old  warrior,  with  the  cuirass  and 
gauntlets  of  elder  warfare  ;  the  other,  the  very 
model  of  a  cavalier,  tall,  easy,  and  graceful,  with  a 


270  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

gentle,  reflecting  face,  and  wearing  the  long  lovelocks 
and  deep  point-lace  collar  and  cuffs  characteristic  of 
Queen  Henrietta's  Court.  Lindsay  was  called  Gen- 
eral-in-chief,  but  the  king  had  imprudently  exempt- 
ed the  cavalry  from  his  command,  its  general, 
Prince  Rupert  of  the  Rhine,  taking  orders  only 
from  himself.  Rupert  was  only  three-and-twenty, 
and  his  education  in  the  wild  school  of  the  Thirty 
Years'  War  had  not  taught  him  to  lay  aside  his  ar- 
rogance and  opinionativeness  ;  indeed,  he  had  shown 
great  petulance  at  receiving  orders  from  the  king 
through  Lord  Falkland. 

At  eight  o'clock,  on  the  morning  of  the  23d  of 
October,  King  Charles  was  riding  along  the  ridge  of 
Edgehill,  and  looking  down  into  the  Vale  of  Red 
Horse,  a  fair  meadow  land,  here  and  there  broken 
by  hedges  and  copses.  His  troops  were  mustering 
around  him,  and  in  the  valley  he  could  see  with  his 
telescope  the  various  Parliamentary  regiments,  as 
they  poured  out  of  the  town  of  Keinton,  and  took 
up  their  positions  in  three  lines.  "  I  never  saw  the 
rebels  in  a  body  before,"  he  said,  as  he  gazed  sadly 
at  the  subjects  arrayed  against  him.  "  I  shall  give 
them  battle.  God,  and  the  prayers  of  good  men  to 
Him,  assist  the  justice  of  my  cause."  The  whole  of 
his  forces,  about  11,000  in  number,  were  not  assem- 
bled till  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  for  the  gentle- 
men who  had  become  officers  found  it  no  easy  mat- 
ter to  call  their  farmers  and  retainers  together,  and 
marshal  them  into  any  sort  of  order.  But  while 
one  troop  after  another  came  trampling,  clanking, 
and  shouting  in,  trying  to  find  and  take  their  proper 
place,  there  were  hot  words  round  the  royal  stand- 
ard. 

Lord  Lindsay,  who  was  an  old  comrade  of  the 
Earl  of  Essex,  the  commander  of  the  rebel  forces, 
knew  that  he  would  follow  the  tactics  they  had  both 
together  studied  in  Holland,  little  thinking  that  one 


Fathers  and  Sons.  2j\ 

day  they  should  be  arrayed  one  against  the  other  in 
their  own  native  England.  He  had  a  high  opinion 
of  Essex's  generalship,  and  insisted  that  the  situ- 
ation of  the  Royal  army  required  the  utmost  cau- 
tion. Rupert,  on  the  other  hand,  had  seen  the  swift 
fiery  charges  of  the  fierce  troopers  of  the  Thirty 
Years'  War.  and  was  backed  up  by  Patrick,  Lord 
Ruthven,  one  of  the  many  Scots  who  had  won  hon- 
or under  the  great  Swedish  king,  Gustavus  Adol- 
phus.  A  sudden  charge  of  the  Royal  horse  would, 
Rupert  argued,  sweep  the  Roundheads  from  the 
field,  and  the  foot  would  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
follow  up  the  victory.  The  great  portrait  at  Windsor 
shows  us  exactly  how  the  king  must  have  stood, 
with  his  charger  by  his  side,  and  his  grave,  melan- 
choly face,  sad  enough  at  having  to  fight  at  all  with 
his  subjects,  and  never  having  seen  a  battle,  entire- 
ly bewildered  between  the  ardent  words  of  his  spir- 
ited nephew  and  the  grave  replies  of  the  well-sea- 
soned old  Earl.  At  last,  as  time  went  on,  and  some 
decision  was  necessary,  the  perplexed  king,  willing 
at  least  not  to  irritate  Rupert,  desired  that  Ruthven 
should  array  the  troops  in  the  Swedish  fashion. 

It  was  a  greater  affront  to  the  General-in-Chief 
than  the  king  was  likely  to  understand,  but  it  could 
not  shake  the  old  soldier's  loyalty.  He  gravely  re- 
signed the  empty  title  of  General,  which  only  made 
confusion  worse  confounded,  and  rode  away  to  act 
as  colonel  of  his  own  Lincoln  regiment,  pitying  his 
master's  perplexity,  and  resolved  that  no  private 
pique  should  hinder  him  from  doing  his  duty.  His 
regiment  was  of  foot-soldiers,  and  was  just  opposite 
to  the  standard  of  the  Earl  of  Essex. 

The  church  bell  was  ringing  for  afternoon  service 
when  the  royal  forces  marched  down  the  hill  The 
last  hurried  prayer  before  the  charge  was  stout  old 
Sir  Jacob  Astley's,  "  O  Lord,  Thou  knowest  how 
busy  I  must  be  this  day ;    if  I  forget  Thee,  do  not 


272  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Thou  forget  me  "  ;  then,  rising,  he  said,  "  March 
on,  boys."  And,  amid  prayer  and  exhortation,  the 
other  side  awaited  the  shock,  as  men  whom  a  strong 
and  deeply  embittered  sense  of  wrong  had  roused  to 
take  up  arms.  Prince  Rupert's  charge  was,  how- 
ever, fully  successful.  No  one  even  waited  to  cross 
swords  with  his  troopers,  but  all  the  Roundhead 
horse  galloped  headlong  off  the  field,  hotly  pursued 
by  the  Royalists.  But  the  main  body  of  the  army 
stood  firm,  and  for  some  time  the  battle  was  nearly 
equal,  until  a  large  troop  of  the  enemy's  cavalry  who 
had  been  kept  in  reserve,  wheeled  round  and  fell  upon 
the  Royal  forces  just  when  their  scanty  supply  of 
ammunition  was  exhausted. 

Step  by  step,  however,  they  retreated  bravely,  and 
Rupert,  who  had  returned  from  his  charge,  sought 
in  vain  to  collect  his  scattered  troopers,  so  as  to  fall 
again  on  the  rebels  ;  but  some  were  plundering, 
some  chasing  the  enemy,  and  none  could  be  got  to- 
gether. Lord  Lindsay  was  shot  through  the  thigh 
bone,  and  fell.  He  was  instantly  surrounded  by  the 
rebels  on  horseback  ;  but  his  son.  Lord  Willoughby, 
seeing  his  danger,  flung  himself  alone  among  the 
enemy,  and  forcing  his  way  forward,  raised  his  fa- 
ther in  his  arms,  thinking  of  nothing  else,  and  un- 
heeding his  own  peril.  The  throng  of  enemy  around 
called  to  him  to  surrender,  and.  hastily  giving  up 
his  sword,  he  carried  the  Earl  into  the  nearest  shed, 
and  laid  him  on  a  heap  of  straw,  vainly  striving  to 
stanch  the  blood.  It  was  a  bitterly  cold  night,  and 
the  frosty  wind  came  howling  through  the  darkness. 
Far  above,  on  the  ridge  of  the  hill,  the  fires  of  the 
king's  army  shone  with  red  light,  and  some  way  off 
on  the  other  side  twinkled  those  of  the  Parliamen- 
tary forces.  Glimmering  lanterns  or  torches  moved 
about  the  battle-field,  those  of  the  savage  plunder- 
ers who  crept  about  to  despoil  the  dead.  Whether 
the  battle  were  won  or  lost,  the  father  and  son  knew 


Fathers  and  Sons.  273 

not,  and  the  guard  who  watched  them  knew  as  little. 
Lord  Lindsay  himself  murmured,  "  If  it  please  God 
I  should  survive,  I  never  will  fight  in  the  same  field 
with  boys  again  !  "  —  no  doubt  deeming  that  young 
Rupert  had  wrought  all  the  mischief.  His  thoughts 
were  all  on  the  cause,  his  son's  all  on  him  ;  and  pit- 
eous was  that  night,  as  the  blood  continued  to  flow, 
and  nothing  availed  to  check  it,  nor  was  any  aid 
near  to  restore  the  old  man's  ebbing  strength. 

Towards  midnight  the  Earl's  old  comrade,  Essex, 
had  time  to  understand  his  condition,  and  sent  some 
officers  to  inquire  for  him,  and  promise  speedy  sur- 
gical attendance.  Lindsay  was  still  full  of  spirit, 
and  spoke  to  them  so  strongly  of  their  broken  faith, 
and  of  the  sin  of  disloyalty  and  rebellion,  that  they 
slunk  away  one  by  one  out  of  the  hut,  and  dissuaded 
Essex  from  coming  himself  to  see  his  old  friend,  as 
he  had  intended.  The  surgeon,  however,  arrived, 
but  too  late,  Lindsay  was  already  so  much  exhausted 
by  cold  and  loss  of  blood,  that  he  died  early  in  the 
morning  of  the  24th,  all  his  son's  gallant  devotion 
having  failed  to  save  him.    ' 

The  sorrowing  son  received  an  affectionate  note 
the  next  day  from  the  king,  full  of  regret  for  his  fa- 
ther and  esteem  for  himself.  Charles  made  every 
effort  to  obtain  his  exchange,  but  could  not  succeed 
for  a  whole  year.  He  was  afterwards  one  of  the 
four  noblemen  who,  seven  years  later,  followed  the 
king's  white,  silent,  snowy  funeral  in  the  dismantled 
St.  George's  Chapel ;  and  from  first  to  last  he  was 
one  of  the  bravest,  purest,  and  most  devoted  of  those 
who  did  honor  to  the  Cavalier  cause. 

We  have  still  another  brave  son  to  describe,  and 
for  him  we  must  turn  away  from  these  sad  pages  of 
our  history,  when  we  were  a  house  divided  against 
itself,  to  one  of  the  hours  of  our  brightest  glory, 
when  the  cause  we  fought  in  was  the  cause  of  all  the 
oppressed,  and  nearly  alone  we  upheld  the  rights  of 


274  <A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

oppressed  countries  against  the  invader.  And  thus 
it  is  that  the  battle  of  the  Nile  is  one  of  the  exploits 
to  which  we  look  back  with  the  greatest  exultation, 
when  we  think  of  the  triumph  of  the  British  flag. 

Let  us  think  of  all  that  was  at  stake.  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  was  climbing  to  power  in  France,  by 
directing  her  successful  arms  against  the  world. 
He  had  beaten  Germany  and  conquered  Italy  ;  he 
had  threatened  England,  and  his  dream  was  of  the 
conquest  of  the  East.  Like  another  Alexander,  he 
hoped  to  subdue  Asia,  and  overthrow  the  hated 
British  power  by  depriving  it  of  India.  Hitherto, 
his  dreams  had  become  earnest  by  the  force  of  his 
marvellous  genius,  and  by  the  ardor  which  he 
breathed  into  the  whole  French  nation  ;  and  when 
he  set  sail  from  Toulon,  with  40,000  tried  and  victo- 
rious soldiers  and  a  magnificent  fleet,  all  were  filled 
with  vague  and  unbounded  expectations  of  almost 
fabulous  glories.  He  swept  away  as  it  were  the 
degenerate  knights  of  St.  John  from  their  rock  of 
Malta,  and  sailed  for  Alexandria  in  Egypt,  in  the 
latter  end  of  June,  1798. 

His  intentions  had  not  become  known,  and  the 
English  Mediterranean  fleet  was  watching  the 
course  of  this  great  armament.  Sir  Horatio  Nel- 
son was  in  pursuit,  with  the  English  vessels,  and 
wrote  to  the  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  :  "  Be  they 
bound  to  the  Antipodes,  your  lordship  may  rely 
that  I  will  not  lose  a  moment  in  bringing  them  to 
action." 

Nelson  had,  however,  not  ships  enough  to  be  de- 
tached to  reconnoitre,  and  he  actually  overpassed 
the  French,  whom  he  guessed  to  be  on  the  way  to 
Egypt.  He  arrived  at  the  port  of  Alexandria  on  the 
28th  of  June,  and  saw  its  blue  waters  and  flat  coast 
lying  still  in  their  sunny  torpor,  as  if  no  enemy  were 
on  the  seas.  Back  he  went  to  Syracuse,  but  could 
learn  no  more  there  ;  he  obtained  provisions  with 


Fathers  and  Sons.  275 

some  difficulty,  and  then,  in  great  anxiety,  sailed  for 
Greece  ;  where  at  last,  on  the  28th  of  July,  he  learnt 
that  the  French  fleet  had  been  seen  from  Candia, 
steering  to  the  southeast,  and  about  four  weeks 
since.  In  fact,  it  had  actually  passed  by  him  in  a 
thick  haze,  which  concealed  each  fleet  from  the  other, 
and  had  arrived  at  Alexandria  on  the  1st  of  July, 
three  days  after  he  had  left  it 

Every  sail  was  set  for  the  south,  and  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  1st  of  August  a  very 
different  sight  was  seen  in  Aboukir  Bay,  so  solitary 
a  month  ago.  It  was  crowded  with  shipping.  Great 
castle-like  men-of-war  rose  with  all  their  proud  calm 
dignity  out  of  the  water,  their  dark  portholes  open- 
ing in  the  white  bands  on  their  sides,  and  the  tricol- 
ored  flag  floating  as  their  ensign.  There  were  thir- 
teen ships  of  the  line  and  four  frigates,  and,  of  these, 
three  were  80-gun  ships,  and  one,  towering  high 
above  the  rest,  with  her  three  decks,  was  L1  Orient, 
of  120  guns.  Look  well  at  her,  for  there  stands  the 
hero  for  whose  sake  we  have  chosen  this  and  no 
other  of  Nelson's  glorious  fights  to  place  among  the 
setting  of  our  Golden  Deeds.  There  he  is,  a  little 
cadet  de  vaisseau,  as  the  French  call  a  midshipman, 
only  ten  years  old,  with  a  heart  swelling  between 
awe  and  exultation  at  the  prospect  of  his  first  battle  ; 
but,  fearless  and  glad,  for  is  he  not  the  son  of  the 
brave  Casabianca,  the  flag-captain  ?  And  is  not  this 
Admiral  Brueys's  own  ship,  looking  down  in  scorn 
on  the  fourteen  little  English  ships,  not  one  carrying 
more  than  74  guns,  and  one  only  50. 

Why  Napoleon  had  kept  the  fleet  there  was  never 
known.  In  his  usual  mean  way  of  disavowing  what- 
ever turned  out  ill,  he  laid  the  blame  upon  Admiral 
Brueys  ;  but,  though  dead  men  could  not  tell  tales, 
his  papers  made  it  plain  that  the  ships  had  remained 
in  obedience  to  commands,  though  they  had  not 
been  able  to  enter  the  harbor  of  Alexandria.     Large 


276  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds 

rewards  had  been  offered  to  any  pilot  who  would 
take  them  in,  but  none  could  be  found  who  would 
venture  to  steer  into  that  port  a  vessel  drawing  more 
than  twenty  feet  of  water.  They  had,  therefore,  re- 
mained at  anchor  outside,  in  Aboukir  Bay,  drawn 
up  in  a  curve  along  the  deepest  of  the  water,  with 
no  room  to  pass  them  at  either  end,  so  that  the  com- 
missary of  the  fleet  reported  that  they  could  bid  de- 
fiance to  a  force  more  than  double  their  number. 
The  admiral  believed  that  Nelson  had  not  ventured 
to  attack  him  when  they  had  passed  by  one  another 
a  month  before,  and  when  the  English  fleet  was  sig- 
nalled, he  still  supposed  that  it  was  too  late  in  the 
day  for  an  attack  to  be  made. 

Nelson  had,  however,  no  sooner  learnt  that  the 
French  were  in  sight  than  he  signalled  from  his 
ship,  the  Va?iguard,  that  preparations  for  battle 
should  be  made,  and  in  the  mean  time  summoned 
up  his  captains  to  receive  his  orders  during  a  hur- 
ried meal.  He  explained  that,  where  there  was 
room  for  a  large  French  ship  to  swing,  there  was 
room  for  a  small  English  one  to  anchor,  and,  there- 
fore, he  designed  to  bring  his  ships  up  to  the  outer 
part  of  the  French  line,  and  station  them  close 
below  their  adversary  ;  a  plan  that  he  said  Lord 
Hood  had  once  designed,  though  he  had  not  carried 
it  out. 

Captain  Berry  was  delighted,  and  exclaimed,  "  If 
we  succeed,  what  will  the  world  say  ?  " 

"There  is  no  if  in  the  case/1  returned  Nelson, 
"  that  we  shall  succeed  is  certain.  Who  may  live 
to  tell  the  tale  is  a  very  different  question." 

And  when  they  rose  and  parted,  he  said,  "  Before 
this  time  to-morrow  I  shall  have  gained  a  peerage 
or  Westminster  Abbey."' 

In  the  fleet  went,  through  a  fierce  storm  of  shot 
and  shell  from  a  French  battery  in  an  island  in  ad- 
vance.    Nelson's  own  ship,  the  Vanguard,  was  the 


Fathers  and  Sons.  277 

first  to  anchor  within  half-pistol-shot  of  the  third 
French  ship,  the  Spartiate.  The  Vanguard  had 
six  colors  flying,  in  case  any  should  be  shot  away ; 
and  such  was  the  fire  that  was  directed  on  her,  that 
in  a  few  minutes  every  man  at  the  six  guns  in  her 
forepart  was  killed  or  wounded,  and  this  happened 
three  times.  Nelson  himself  received  a  wound  in 
the  head,  which  was  thought  at  first  to  be  mortal, 
but  which  proved  but  slight.  He  would  not  allow 
the  surgeon  to  leave  the  sailors  to  attend  to  him  till 
it  came  to  his  turn. 

Meantime  his  ships  were  doing  their  work  glori- 
ously. The  Bellerophon  was,  indeed,  overpowered 
by  U  Orient,  200  of  her  crew  killed,  and  all  her 
masts  and  cables  shot  away,  so  that  she  drifted 
away  as  night  came  on  ;  but  the  Swiftsure  came  up 
in  her  place,  and  the  Alexander  and  Leander  both 
poured  in  their  shot.  Admiral  Brueys  received 
three  wounds,  but  would  not  quit  his  post,  and  at 
length  a  fourth  shot  almost  cut  him  in  two.  He 
desired  not  to  be  carried  below,  but  that  he  might 
die  on  deck. 

About  nine  o'clock  the  ship  took  fire,  and  blazed 
up  with  fearful  brightness,  lighting  up  the  whole 
bay,  and  showing  five  French  ships  with  their  colors 
hauled  down,  the  others  still  fighting  on.  Nelson 
himself  rose  and  came  on  deck  when  this  fearful 
glow  came  shining  from  sea  and  sky  into  his  cabin, 
and  gave  orders  that  the  English  boats  should  im- 
mediately be  put  off  for  JO  Orient,  to  save  as  many 
lives  as  possible. 

The  English  sailors  rowed  up  to  the  burning 
ship,  which  they  had  lately  been  attacking.  The 
French  officers  listened  to  the  offer  of  safety,  and 
called  to  the  little  favorite  of  the  ship,  the  captain's 
son,  to  come  with  them.  "  No,"  said  the  boy,  "he 
was  where  his  father  had  stationed  him,  and  bidden 
him  not  to  move  save  at  his  call."     They  told  him 


2? S  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

his  father's  voice  would  never  call  him  again,  for  he 
lay  senseless  and  mortally  wounded  on  the  deck,  and 
that  the  ship  must  presently  blow  up.  "No,"  said 
the  brave  child,  "he  must  obey  his  father."  The 
moment  allowed  no  delay,  —  the  boat  put  off.  The 
flames  showed  all  that  passed  in  a  quivering  glare 
more  intense  than  daylight,  and  the  little  fellow  was 
then  seen  on  the  deck,  leaning  over  the  prostrate 
figure,  and  presently  tying  it  to  one  of  the  spars  of 
the  shivered  masts. 

Just  then  a  thundering  explosion  shook  down  to 
the  very  hold  every  ship  in  the  harbor,  and  burning 
fragments  of  D Orient  came  falling  far  and  wide, 
plashing  heavily  into  the  water,  in  the  dead  awful 
stillness  that  followed  the  fearful  sound.  English 
boats  were  plying  busily  about,  picking  up  those 
who  had  leapt  overboard  in  time.  Some  were 
dragged  in  through  the  lower  port-holes  of  the 
English  ships,  and  about  seventy  were  saved  alto- 
gether. For  one  moment  a  boat's  crew  had  a  sigh, 
of  a  helpless  figure  bound  to  a  spar,  and  guided  by 
a  little  childish  swimmer,  who  must  have  gone 
overboard  with  his  precious  freight  just  before  the 
explosion.  They  rowed  after  the  brave  little  fellow, 
earnestly  desiring  to  save  him,  but  in  darkness,  in 
smoke,  in  lurid  uncertain  light,  amid  hosts  of  drown- 
ing wretches,  they  lost  sight  of  him  again. 

"  The  boy,  O  where  was  he  ! 
Ask  of  the  winds  that  far  around 

With  fragments  strewed  the  sea  ; 
With  mast  and  helm,  and  pennant  fair 

That  well  had  borne  their  part  : 
But  the  noblest  thing  that  perished  there 

Was  that  young  faithful  heart  !  " 

By  sunrise  the  victory  was  complete.  Nay,  as 
Nelson  said,  "  It  was  not  a  victory,  but  a  conquest." 
Only  four  French  ships  escaped,  and  Napoleon  and 


Fathers  and  Sons. 


279 


his  army  were  cut  off  from  home.  These  are  the 
glories  of  our  navy,  gained  by  men  with  hearts  as 
true  and  obedient  as  that  of  the  brave  child  they 
had  tried  in  vain  to  save.  Yet  still,  while  giving 
the  full  meed  of  thankful,  sympathetic  honor  to  our 
noble  sailors,  we  cannot  but  feel  that  the  Golden 
Deed  of  Aboukir  Bay  fell  to  — 

"  That  young  faithful  heart." 


THE    SOLDIERS    IN   THE    SNOW 


1672. 

FEW  generals  have  ever  been  more  loved  by 
their  soldiers  than  the  great  Viscount  de  Tu- 
renne,  who  was  Marshal  of  France  in  the  time  of 
Louis  XIV.  Troops  are  always  proud  of  a  leader 
who  wins  victories  ;  but  Turenne  was  far  more 
loved  for  his  generous  kindness  than  for  his  suc- 
cesses. If  he  gained  a  battle,  he  always  wrote  in 
his  despatches,  "  We  succeeded,"  so  as  to  give  the 
credit  to  the  rest  of  the  army ;  but  if  he  were  de- 
feated, he  wrote,  "/  lost/'  so  as  to  take  all  the 
blame  upon  himself.  He  always  shared  as  much 
as  possible  in  every  hardship  suffered  by  his  men, 
and  they  trusted  him  entirely.  In  the  year  1672. 
Turenne  and  his  army  were  sent  to  make  war  upon 
the  Elector  Frederick  William  of  Brandenburg,  in 
Northern  Germany.  It  was  in  the-  depth  of  winter, 
and  the  marches  through  the  heavy  roads  were 
very  trying  and  wearisome  ;  but  the  soldiers  en- 
dured all  cheerfully  for  his  sake.  Once  when  they 
were  wading  through  a  deep  morass,  some  of  the 
younger  soldiers  complained ;  but  the  elder  ones 
answered,  "  Depend  upon  it,  Turenne  is  more  con- 
cerned than  we  are.  At  this  moment  he  is  thinking 
how  to  deliver  us.  He  watches  for  us  while  we 
sleep.  He  is  our  father.  It  is  plain  that  you  are 
but  vouner." 


The  Soldiers  171  the  Snow.  281 

Another  night,  when  he  was  going  the  round  of 
the  camp,  he  overheard  some  of  the  younger  men 
murmuring  at  the  discomforts  of  the  march  ;  when 
an  old  soldier,  newly  recovered  from  a  severe 
wound,  said :  "  You  do  not  know  our  father.  He 
would  not  have  made  us  go  through  such  fatigue 
unless  he  had  some  great  end  in  view,  which  we 
cannot  yet  make  out."  Turenne  always  declared 
that  nothing  had  ever  given  him  more  pleasure 
than  this  conversation. 

There  was  a  severe  sickness  among  the  troops, 
and  he  went  about  among  the  sufferers,  comforting 
them,  and  seeing  that  their  wants  were  supplied. 
When  he  passed  by,  the  soldiers  came  out  of  their 
tents  to  look  at  him,  and  say,  "  Our  father  is  in  good 
health  :  we  have  nothing  to  fear." 

The  army  had  to  enter  the  principality  of  Halber- 
stadt,  the  way  to  which  lay  over  ridges  of  high  hills 
with  narrow  defiles  between  them.  Considerable 
time  was  required  for  the  whole  of  the  troops  to 
march  through  a  single  narrow  outlet ;  and  one  very 
cold  day,  when  such  a  passage  was  taking  place,  the 
marshal,  quite  spent  with  fatigue,  sat  down  under  a 
bush  to  wait  till  all  had  marched  by,  and  fell  asleep. 
When  he  awoke,  it  was  snowing  fast ;  but  he  found 
himself  under  a  sort  of  tent  made  of  soldiers' 
cloaks,  hung  up  upon  the  branches  of  trees  planted 
in  the  ground,  and  round  it  were  standing,  in  the 
cold  and  snow,  all  unsheltered,  a  party  of  soldiers. 
Turenne  called  out  to  them,  to  ask  what  they  were 
doing  there.  "  We  are  taking  care  of  our  father," 
they  said ;  "  that  is  our  chief  concern."  The  general, 
to  keep  up  discipline,  seems  to  have  scolded  them  a 
little  for  straggling  from  their  regiment ;  but  he  was 
much  affected  and  gratified  by  this  sight  of  their 
hearty  love  for  him. 

Still  greater  and  more  devoted  love  was  shown  by 
some  German  soldiers  in  the  terrible  winter  of  181 2. 


282  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

It  was  when  the  Emperor  Napoleon  I.  had  made  his 
vain  attempt  to  conquer  Russia,  and  had  been  pre- 
vented from  spending  the  winter  at  Moscow  by  the 
great  fire  that  consumed  all  the  city.  He  was  obliged 
to  retreat  through  the  snow,  with  the  Russian  army 
pursuing  him,  and  his  miserable  troops  suffering 
horrors  beyond  all  imagination.  Among  them  were 
many  Italians,  Poles,  and  Germans,  whom  he  had 
obliged  to  become  his  allies  ;  and  the  "  Golden 
Deed "  of  ten  of  these  German  soldiers,  the  last 
remnant  of  those  led  from  Hesse  Darmstadt  by  their 
gallant  young  Prince  Emilius,  is  best  told  in  Lord 
Houghton's  verses  :  — 


"  From  Hessen  Darmstadt  every  step  to  Moskwa's  blaz- 
ing banks, 

Was  Prince  Emilius  found  in  fight  before  the  foremost 
ranks ; 

And  when  upon  the  icy  waste  that  host  was  backward 
cast, 

On  Beresina's  bloody  bridge  his  banner  waved  the  last. 

"  His  valor  shed  victorious  grace  on  all  that  dread  re- 
treat, — 

That  path  across  the  wildering  snow,  athwart  the  blind- 
ing sleet ; 

And  every  follower  of  his  sword  could  all  endure  and 
dare, 

Becoming  warriors,  strong  in  hope,  or  stronger  in 
despair. 

"  Now,  day  and  dark,  along  the  storm  the  demon  Cos- 
sacks sweep  — 

The  hungriest  must  not  look  for  food,  the  weariest 
must  not  sleep. 

No  rest  but  death  for  horse  or  man,  whichever  first 
shall  tire  ; 

They  see  the  flames  destroy,  but  ne'er  may  feel  the 
saving  fire. 


The  Soldiers  in  the  Snow.  283 

Thus  never  closed  the  bitter  night,  nor  rose  the  savage 
morn, 

But  from  that  gallant  company  some  noble  part  was 
shorn  ; 

And,  sick  at  heart,  the  Prince  resolved  to  keep  his  pur- 
posed way 

With  steadfast  forward  looks,  nor  count  the  losses  of 
the  day. 

At  length  beside  a  black,  burnt  hut,  an  island  of  the 

snow, 
Each  head  in  frigid  torpor  bent  toward  the  saddle  bow  ; 
They  paused,  and  of  that  sturdy  troop  —  that  thousand 

banded  men  — 
At  one  unmeditated  glance  he  numbered  only  ten  ! 

Of  all  that  high  triumphant  life  that  left  his  German 
home  — 

Of  all  those  hearts  that  beat  beloved,  or  looked  for 
love  to  come  — 

This  piteous  remnant,  hardly  saved,  his  spirit  over- 
came, 

While  memory  raised  each  friendly  face,  recalled  an 
ancient  name. 


"  These  were  his  words,  serene  and  firm,  '  Dear  brothers, 

it  is  best 
That  here,  with  perfect  trust  in  Heaven,  we  give  our 

bodies  rest ; 
If  we  have  borne,  like   faithful  men,  our  part  of  toil 

and  pain, 
Where'er  we  wake,  for  Christ's  good  sake,   we  shall 

not  sleep  in  vain.' 

"  Some  uttered,  others  looked  assent,  —  they  had  no  heart 

to  speak  ; 
Dumb  hands  were  pressed,  the  pallid  lip  approached 

the  callous  cheek. 
They  laid  them  side  by  side  ;  and  death  to  him  at  last 

did  seem 
To  come  attired  in  mazy  robe  of  variegated  dream. 


:S4  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

"  Once  more   he  floated  on  the  breast  of  old  familiar 

Rhine, 
His  mother's  and  one  other  smile  above  him  seemed  to 

shine  ; 
A  blessed  dew  of  healing  fell  on  every  aching  limb, 
Till  the  stream  broadened,  and  the  air  thickened,  and 

all  was  dim, 

"  Xature  has  bent  to  other  laws  if  that  tremendous  night 
Passed  o"er  his  frame,  exposed  and  worn,  and  left  no 

deadly  blight ; 
Then  wonder  not  that  when,  refreshed  and  warm,  he 

woke  at  last. 
There  lay  a  boundless  gulf  of  thought  between  him  and 

the  past. 

1  Soon  raising  his  astonished  head,  he  found  himself 
alone. 

Sheltered  beneath  a  genial  heap  of  vestments  not  his 
own  ; 

The  light  increased,  the  solemn  truth  revealing  more 
and  more, 

The  soldiers'  corses,  self-despoiled,  closed  up  the  nar- 
row door. 

'  That  very  hour,  fulfilling  good,  miraculous  succor  came, 
And  Prince  Emiiius  lived  to  give  this  worthy  deed  to 

fame. 
O  brave  fidelitv  in  death  !     O  strength  of  loving  will  ! 
These   are   the   holv  balsam   drops   that   woeful  wars 

distil.'' 


GUNPOWDER    PERILS. 
1700. 

THE  wild  history  of  Ireland  contains  many  a 
frightful  tale,  but  also  many  an  action  of  the 
noblest  order  ;  and  the  short  sketch  given  by  Maria 
Edgeworth  of  her  ancestry,  presents  such  a  checker- 
work  of  the  gold  and  the  lead  that  it  is  almost  im- 
possible to  separate  them. 

At  the  time  of  the  great  Irish  rebellion  of  1641, 
the  head  of  the  Edgeworth  family  had  left  his  Eng- 
lish wife  and  her  infant  son  at  his  castle  of  Cranal- 
lagh  in  county  Longford,  thinking  them  safe  there 
while  he  joined  the  royal  forces  under  the  Earl  of 
Ormond.  In  his  absence,  however,  the  rebels  at- 
tacked the  castle  at  night,  set  fire  to  it,  and  dragged 
the  lady  out,  absolutely  naked.  She  hid  herself  un- 
der a  furze  bush,  and  succeeded  in  escaping  and 
reaching  Dublin,  whence  she  made  her  way  to  her 
father's  house  in  Derbyshire.  Her  little  son  was 
found  by  the  rebels  lying  in  his  cradle,  and  one  of 
them  actually  seized  the  child  by  the  leg  and  was 
about  to  dash  out  his  brains  against  the  wall ;  but  a 
servant  named  Bryan  Ferral,  pretending  to  be  even 
more  ferocious,  vowed  that  a  sudden  death  was  too 
good  for  the  little  heretic,  and  that  he  should  be 
plunged  up  to  the  throat  in  a  bog-hole  and  left  for 
the  crows  to  pick  out  his  eyes.  He  actually  did 
place  the  poor  child  in  the  bog,  but  only  to  save  his 


286  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

life  ;  he  returned  as  soon  as  he  could  elude  his  com- 
rades, put  the  boy  into  a  pannier  below  eggs  and 
chickens,  and  thus  carried  him  straight  through  the 
rebel  camp  to  his  mother  at  Dublin.  Strange  to 
say,  these  rebels,  who  thought  being  dashed  against 
the  wall  too  good  a  fate  for  the  infant,  extinguished 
the  flames  of  the  castle  out  of  reverence  for  the  pic- 
ture of  his  grandmother,  who  had  been  a  Roman 
Catholic,  and  was  painted  on  a  panel  with  a  cross  on 
her  bosom  and  a  rosary  in  her  hand. 

John  Edgeworth,  the  boy  thus  saved,  married 
very  young,  and  went  with  his  wife  to  see  London 
after  the  Restoration.  To  pay  their  expenses  they 
mortgaged  an  estate  and  put  the  money  in  a  stock- 
ing, which  they  kept  on  the  top  of  the  bed  ;  and 
when  that  store  was  used  up,  the  young  man  actu- 
ally sold  a  house  in  Dublin  to  buy  a  high-crowned 
hat  and  feathers.  Still,  reckless  and  improvident  as 
they  were,  there  was  sound  principle  within  them, 
and  though  they  were  great  favorites,  and  Charles 
II.  insisted  on  knighting  the  husband,  their  glimpse 
of  the  real  evils  and  temptations  of  his  court  sufficed 
them,  and  in  the  full  tide  of  flattery  and  admiration 
the  lady  begged  to  return  home,  nor  did  she  ever 
go  back  to  court  again. 

Her  home  was  at  Castle  Lissard,  in  full  view  of 
which  was  a  hillock  called  Fairymount,  or  Firmont, 
from  being  supposed  to  be  the  haunt  of  fairies. 
Lights,  noises  and  singing  at  night,  clearly  discerned 
from  the  castle,  caused  much  terror  to  Lady  Edge- 
worth,  though  her  descendants  affirm  that  they  were 
fairies  of  the  same  genus  as  those  who  beset  Sir 
John  Falstaff  at  Hearne's  Oak,  and  intended  to 
frighten  her  into  leaving  the  place.  However, 
though  her  nerves  might  be  disturbed,  her  spirit 
was  not  to  be  daunted  ;  and,  fairies  or  no  fairies, 
she  held  her  ground  at  Castle  Lissard,  and  there 
showed  what  manner  of  woman  she  was  in  a  verita- 
ble and  most  fearful  peril. 


Gunpowder  Perils.  287 

On  some  alarm  which  caused  the  gentlemen  of 
the  family  to  take  down  their  guns,  she  went  to  a 
dark  loft  at  the  top  of  the  house  to  fetch  some  pow- 
der from  a  barrel  that  was  there  kept  in  store,  tak- 
ing  a  young  maid-servant   to   carry   the    candle ; 
which,  as  might  be  expected  in  an  Irish  household 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  was  devoid  of  any  can- 
dlestick.    After  taking  the  needful  amount  of  gun- 
powder, Lady  Edgeworth  locked  the  door,  and  was 
half-way  down  stairs  when  she  missed  the  candle,  and 
asking  the  girl  what  she  had  done  with  it,  received 
the  cool  answer  that  "  she  had  left  it  sticking  in  the 
barrel  of  black  salt."      Lady  Edgeworth  bade  her 
stand  still,  turned  round,  went. back  alone  to  the  loft 
where  the  tallow-candle  stood,  guttering  and  flaring, 
planted  in  the  middle  of  the  gunpowder,  resolutely 
put  an  untrembling  hand  beneath  it,  took  it  out  so 
steadily  that  no  spark  fell,  carried  it  down,  and  when 
she  came  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  dropped  on  her 
knees,  and  broke  forth  in  a  thanksgiving  aloud  for 
the  safety  of  the  household  in  this  frightful  peril. 
This  high-spirited  lady  lived  to  be  ninety  years  old, 
and  left  a  numerous  family.     One  grandson  was  the 
Abbs  Edgeworth,  known  in  France  as  De  Firmont, 
such  being  the  alteration  of  Fairymount  on  French 
lips.     It  was  he  who,  at  the  peril  of  his  own  life, 
attended    Louis    XVI.  to  the  guillotine,   and    thus 
connected  his  name  so  closely  with  the  royal  cause 
that  when  his  cousin,  Richard  Lovell  Edgeworth,  of 
Edgeworthstown,  visited  France  several  years  after, 
the    presence   of    a  person    so    called  was  deemed 
perilous  to  the    rising    power  of   Napoleon.     This 
latter    Mr.    Edgeworth   was    the   father    of    Maria, 
whose  works  we  hope  are  well  known  to  our  young 
readers. 

The  good  Chevalier  Bayard  was  wont  to  mourn 
over  the  introduction  of  fire-arms,  as  destructive 
of  chivalry  ;  and  certainly  the  steel-clad  knight,  with 


288  A  Book  of  Golde?i  Deeds. 

barbed  steed,  and  sword  and  lance,  has  disappeared 
from  the  battle-field  ;  but  his  most  essential  quali- 
ties, truth,  honor,  faithfulness,  mercy,  and  self-devo- 
tion, have  not  disappeared  with  him,  nor  can  they 
as  long  as  Christian  men  and  women  bear  in  mind 
that  "greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  he 
lay  down  his  life  for  his  friend." 

And  that  terrible  compound,  gunpowder,  has  been 
the  occasion  of  many  another  daring  deed,  requiring 
desperate  resolution,  to  save  others  at  the  expense 
of  a  death  perhaps  more  frightful  to  the  imagination 
than  any  other.  Listen  to  a  story  of  the  king's 
birthday  in  Jersey  "sixty  years  since,*' — in  1804, 
when  that  4th  of  June  that  Eton  boys  delight  in  was 
already  in  the  forty-fourth  year  of  its  observance  in 
honor  of  the  then  reigning  monarch,  George  III. 

All  the  forts  in  the  island  had  done  due  honor  to 
the  birthday  of  his  Majesty,  who  was  then  just  re- 
covered from  an  attack  of  insanity.  In  each  the 
guns  at  noon-day  thundered  out  their  royal  salute, 
the  flashes  had  answered  one  another,  and  the 
smoke  had  wreathed  itself  away  over  the  blue  sea  of 
Jersey.  The  new  fort  on  the  hill  just  above  the 
town 'of  St.  Heliers  had  contributed  its  share  to  the 
loyal  thunders,  and  then  it  was  shut  up,  and  the 
keys  carried  away  by  Captain  Salmon,  the  artillery 
officer  on  guard  there,  locking  up  therein  209  barrels 
of  gunpowder,  with  a  large  supply  of  bombshells, 
and  every  kind  of  ammunition,  such  as  might  well 
be  needed  in  the  Channel  islands  the  year  before 
Lord  Nelson  had  freed  England  from  the  chance  of 
finding  the  whole  French  army  on  our  coast  in  the 
flat-bottomed  boats  that  were  waiting  at  Boulogne 
for  the  dark  night  that  never  came. 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  Captain  Salmon 
went  to  dine  with  the  other  officers  in  St.  Heliers 
and  to  drink  the  king's  health,  when  the  soldiers  on 
Sfuard  beheld  a  cloud  of  smoke  curling  out  at  the  air- 


Gunpowder  Perils.  289 

hole  at  the  end  of  the  magazine.  Shouting  "  Fire  !  " 
they  ran  away  to  avoid  an  explosion  that  would 
have  shattered  them  to  pieces,  and  might  perhaps 
endanger  the  entire  town  of  St.  Heliers.  Happily 
their  shout  was  heard  by  a  man  of  different  mould. 
Lieutenant  Lys,  the  signal  officer,  was  in  the  watch- 
house  on  the  hill,  and  coming  out  he  saw  the  smoke, 
and  perceived  the  danger.  Two  brothers,  named 
Thomas  and  Edward  Touzel,  carpenters,  and  the 
sons  of  an  old  widow,  had  come  up  to  take  down  a 
flag-staff  that  had  been  raised  in  honor  of  the  day, 
and  Mr.  Lys  ordered  them  to  hasten  to  the  town  to 
inform  the  commander-in-chief,  and  get  the  keys 
from  Captain  Salmon. 

Thomas  went,  and  endeavored  to  persuade  his 
brother  to  accompany  him  from  the  heart  of  the 
danger  ;  but  Edward  replied  that  he  must  die  some 
day  or  other,  and  that  he  would  do  his  best  to  save 
the  magazine,  and  he  tried  to  stop  some  of  the  run- 
away soldiers  to  assist.  One  refused  ;  but  another, 
William  Ponteney,  of  the  3d,  replied  that  he  was 
ready  to  die  with  him,  and  they  shook  hands. 

Edward  Touzel  then,  by  the  help  of  a  wooden  bar 
and  an  axe,  broke  open  the  door  of  the  fort,  and 
making  his  way  into  it,  saw  the  state  of  the  case, 
and  shouted  to  Mr.  Lys  on  the  outside,  "  The  mag- 
azine is  on  fire,  it  will  blow  up,  we  must  lose  our 
lives  ;  but  no  matter,  huzza  for  the  king  !  We  must 
try  and  save  it."  He  then  rushed  into  the  flame, 
and  seizing  the  matches,  which  were  almost  burnt 
out  (probably  splinters  of  wood  tipped  with  brim- 
stone), he  threw  them  by  armfulls  to  Mr.  Lys  and 
the  soldier  Ponteney,  who  stood  outside  and  re- 
ceived them.  Mr.  Lys  saw  a  cask  of  water  near  at 
hand  ;  but  there  was  nothing  to  carry  the  water  in 
but  an  earthen  pitcher,  his  own  hat  and  the  sol- 
dier's. These,  however,  they  filled  again  and  again, 
and  handed  to  Touzel,  who  thus  extinguished  all 
19 


290  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

the  fire  he  could  see  ;  but  the  smoke  was  so  dense, 
that  he  worked  in  horrible  doubt  and  obscurity,  al- 
most suffocated,  and  with  his  face  and  hands  al- 
ready scorched.  The  beams  over  his  head  were  on 
fire,  large  cases  containing  powder-horns  had  already 
caught,  and  an  open  barrel  of  gunpowder  was  close 
by.  only  awaiting  the  fall  of  a  single  brand  to  burst 
into  a  fatal  explosion.  Touzel  called  out  to  entreat 
for  some  drink  to  enable  him  to  endure  the  Stirling, 
and  Mr.  Lys  handed  him  some  spirits-and-water, 
which  he  drank,  and  worked  on  ;  but  by  this  time 
the  officers  had  heard  the  alarm,  dispelled  the  panic 
among  the  soldiers,  and  come  to  the  rescue.  The 
magazine  was  completely  emptied,  and  the  last 
smouldering  sparks  extinguished  ;  but  the  whole  of 
the  garrison  and  citizens  felt  that  they  owed  their 
lives  to  the  three  gallant  men  to  whose  exertions 
alone,  under  Providence,  it  was  owing  that  succor 
did  not  come  too  late.  Most  of  all  was  honor  due  to 
Edward  Touzel.  who.  as  a  civilian,  might  have  turned 
his  back  upon  the  peril  without  any  blame  ;  nay, 
could  even  have  pleaded  Mr.  Lys's  message  as  a 
duty,  but  who  had  instead  rushed  foremost  into 
what  he  believed  was  certain  death. 

A  meeting  was  held  in  the  church  of  St.  Heliers 
to  consider  of  a  testimonial  of  gratitude  to  these 
three  brave  men  (it  is  to  be  hoped  that  thankfulness 
to  an  overruling  Providence  was  also  manifested 
there),  when  ^500  was  voted  to  Mr.  Lys,  who  was 
the  father  of  a  large  family  ;  ^3co  to  Edward  Touzel ; 
and  William  Ponteney  received,  at  his  own  request, 
a  life  annuity  of  £20  and  a  gold  medal,  as  he  de- 
clared that  he  had  rather  continue  to  serve  the  king 
as  a  soldier  than  be  placed  in  any  other  course  of 
life. 

In  that  same  year  (1804)  the  same  daring  endur- 
ance and  heroism  were  evinced  by  the  officers  of  H. 
M.  S.  Hindostan,  where,  when  on  the  way  from  Gib- 


Gunpowder  Perils.  2gi 

raltar  to  join  Nelson's  fleet  at  Toulon,  the  cry  of 
"  Fire  !  "  was  heard,  and  dense  smoke  rose  from  the 
lower  decks,  so  as  to  render  it  nearly  impossible  to 
detect  the  situation  of  the  fire.  Again  and  again 
Lieutenants  Tailour  and  Banks  descended,  and  fell 
down  senseless  from  the  stifling  smoke  ;  then  were 
carried  on  deck,  recovered  in  the  free  air,  and  re- 
turned to  the  vain  endeavor  of  clearing  the  powder- 
room.  But  no  man  could  long  preserve  his  facul- 
ties in  the  poisonous  atmosphere,  and  the  two  lieu- 
tenants might  be  said  to  have  died  miny  deaths 
from  it.  At  last  the  fire  gained  so  much  head  that 
it  was  impossible  to  save  the  vessel,  which  had  in 
the  mean  time  been  brought  into  the  Bay  of  Rosas, 
and  was  near  enough  to  land  to  enable  the  crew  to 
escape  in  boats,  after  having  endured  the  fire  six 
hours.  Nelson  himself  wrote  :  u  The  preservation 
of  the  crew  seems  little  short  of  a  miracle.  I  never 
read  such  a  journal  of  exertions  in  my  life." 

Eight  years  after,  on  the  taking  of  Ciudad  Rodri- 
go,  in  1812,  by  the  British  army  under  Wellington, 
Captain  William  Jones,  of  the  53d  Regiment,  having 
captured  a  French  officer,  employed  his  prisoner  in 
pointing  out  quarters  for  his  men.  The  Frenchman 
could  not  speak  English,  and  Captain  Jones  —  a 
fiery  Welshman,  whom  it  was  the  fashion  in  the 
regiment  to  term  "  Jack  Jones  "  —  knew  no  French  ; 
but  dumb  show  supplied  the  want  of  language,  and 
some  of  the  company  were  lodged  in  a  large  store 
pointed  out  by  the  Frenchman,  who  then  led  the 
way  to  a  church,  near  which  Lord  Wellington  and 
his  staff  were  standing.  But  no  sooner  had  the 
guide  stepped  into  the  building  than  he  started  back, 
crying  "  Sacre  bleu  !  "  and  ran  out  in  the  utmost 
alarm.  The  Welsh  captain,  however,  went  on,  and 
perceived  that  the  church  had  been  used  as  a  pow- 
der-magazine by  the  French  ;  barrels  were  standing 
round,  samples  of  their  contents  lay  loosely  scat- 


292  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

tered  on  the  pavement,  and  in  the  midst  was  a  fire, 
probably  lighted  by  some  Portuguese  soldiers.  Forth- 
with Captain  Jones  and  the  sergeant  entered  the 
church,  took  up  the  burning  embers  brand  by  brand, 
bore  them  safe  over  the  scattered  powder,  and  out 
of  the  church,  and  thus  averted  what  might  have 
been  the  most  terrific  disaster  that  could  have  befal- 
len our  army.* 

Our  next  story  of  this  kind  relates  to  a  French 
officer.  Monsieur  Mathieu  Martinel,  adjutant  of  the 
1st  Cuirassiers.  In  1820  there  was  a  lire  in  the  bar- 
racks at  Strasburg.  and  nine  soldiers  were  lying  sick 
and  helpless  above  a  room  containing  a  barrel  of 
gunpowder  and  a  thousand  cartridges.  Every  one 
was  escaping,  but  Martinel  persuaded  a  few  men  to 
return  into  the  barracks  with  him.  and  hurried  up 
the  stairs  through  smoke  and  flame  that  turned  back 
his  companions.  He  came  alone  to  the  door  of  a 
room  close  to  that  which  contained  the  powder,  but 
found  it  locked.  Catching  up  a  bench,  he  beat  the 
door  in.  and  was  met  by  such  a  burst  of  fire  as  had 
almost  driven  him  away  ;  but  just  as  he  was  about 
to  descend,  he  thought  that,  when  the  flames  reached 
the  powder,  the  nine  sick  men  must  infallibly  be 
blown  up.  and.  returning  to  the  charge,  he  dashed 
forward,  with  eyes  shut,  through  the  midst,  and  with 
face,  hands,  hair,  and  clothes  singed  and  burnt  he 
made  his  way  to  the  magazine  in  time  to  tear  away, 
and  throw  to  a  distance  from  the  powder,  the  mass 
of  paper  in  which  the  cartridges  were  packed,  which 
was  just  about  to  ignite,  and  appearing  at  the  win- 
dow, with  loud  shouts  for  water,   thus  showed  the 

*  The  story  has  been  told  with  some  variation,  as  to  whether  it  was 
the  embers  or  a  barrel  of  powder  that  he  and  the  sergeant  removed. 
In  the  Record  of  the  52d  it  is  said  to  have  been  the  latter  ;  but  the 
tradition  the  author  has  received  from  officers  of  the  regiment,  dis- 
tinctly stated  that  it  was  the  burning  brands,  and  that  the  scene  was 
a  reserve  magazine.  — not.  as  in  the  brief  mention  in  Sir  William  Na- 
pier's History,  the  great  magazine  of  the  town. 


Gunpowder  Perils.  293 

possibility  of  penetrating  to  the  magazine,  and  floods 
of  water  were  at  once  directed  to  it,  so  as  to  drench 
the  powder,  and  thus  save  the  men. 

This  same  Martinel  had  shortly  before  thrown 
himself  into  the  river  111,  without  waiting  to  undress, 
to  rescue  a  soldier  who  had  fallen  in,  so  near  a  wa- 
ter-mill that  there  was  hardly  a  chance  of  life  for 
either.  Swimming  straight  towards  the  mill-dam, 
Martinel  grasped  the  post  of  the  sluice  with  one 
arm,  and  with  the  other  tried  to  arrest  the  course  of 
the  drowning  man,  who  was  borne  by  a  rapid  cur- 
rent towards  the  mill-wheel ;  and  was  already  so  far 
beneath  the  surface  that  Martinel  could  not  reach 
him  without  letting  go  of  the  post.  Grasping  the 
inanimate  body,  he  actually  allowed  himself  to  be 
carried  under  the  mill-wheel,  without  loosing  his 
hold,  and  came  up  immediately  after  on  the  other 
side,  still  able  to  bring  the  man  to  land  in  time  for 
his  suspended  animation  to  be  restored. 

Seventeen  years  afterwards,  when  the  regiment 
wis  at  Paris,  there  was,  on  the  night  of  the  14th  of 
June,  1837,  during  the  illuminations  at  the  wedding- 
festival  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Orleans,  one 
of  those  frightful  crushes  that  sometimes  occur  in 
an  ill-regulated  crowd,  when  there  is  some  obstruc- 
tion in  the  way,  and  there  is  nothing  but  a  horrible 
blind  struggling  and  trampling,  violent  and  fatal  be- 
cause of  its  very  helplessness  and  bewilderment. 
The  crowd  were  trying  to  leave  the  Champ  de  Mars, 
where  great  numbers  had  been  witnessing  some 
magnificent  fireworks,  and  had  blocked  up  the  pas- 
sage leading  out  by  the  Military  College.  A  woman 
fell  down  in  a  fainting  fit,  others  stumbled  over  her, 
and  thus  formed  an  obstruction,  which,  being  un- 
known to  those  in  the  rear,  did  not  prevent  them 
from  forcing  forward  the  persons  in  front,  so  that 
they  too  were  pushed  and  trodden  into  one  fright- 
ful, struggling,  suffocating  mass  of  living  and  dying 
men,  women,  and  children,  increasing  every  moment. 


294  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

M.  Martinel  was  passing,  on  his  way  to  his  quar- 
ters, when,  hearing  the  tumult,  he  ran  to  the  gate 
from  the  other  side,  and  meeting  the  crowd,  tried  by 
shouts  and  entreaties  to  persuade  them  to  give  back, 
but  the  hindmost  could  not  hear  him,  and  the  more 
frightened  they  grew  the  more  they  tried  to  hurry 
home,  and  so  made  the  heap  worse  and  worse,  and 
in  the  midst  an  illuminated  yew-tree,  in  a  pot,  was 
upset,  and  further  barred  the  way.  Martinel,  with 
imminent  danger  to  himself,  dragged  out  one  or  two 
persons;  but  finding  his  single'' efforts  almost  use- 
less among  such  numbers,  he  ran  to  the  barracks, 
sounded  to  horse,  and,  without  waiting  till  his  men 
could  be  got  together,  hurried  off  again  on  foot  with 
a  few  of  his  comrades,  and  dashed  back  into  the 
crowd,  struggling  as  vehemently  to  penetrate  to  the 
scene  of  danger  as  many  would  have  done  to  get 
away  from  it. 

Private  Spenle'e  alone  kept  up  with  him,  and, 
coming  to  the  dreadful  heap,  these  two  labored  to 
free  the  passage,  lift  up  the  living,  and  remove  the 
dead.  First  he  dragged  out  an  old  man  in  a  faint- 
ing fit,  then  a  young  soldier,  next  a  boy,  a  woman, 
a  little  girl,  —  he  carried  them  to  freer  air,  and  came 
back  the  next  moment,  though  often  so  nearly 
pulled  down  by  the  frantic  struggles  of  the  terrified, 
stifled  creatures,  that  he  was  each  moment  in  the 
utmost  peril  of  being  trampled  to  death.  He  car- 
ried cut  nine  persons  one  by  one  ;  Spenlee  brought 
out  a  man  and  a  child  ;  and  his  brother  officers, 
coming  up,  took  their  share.  One  lieutenant,  with 
a  girl  in  a  swoon  in  his  arms,  caused  a  boy  to  be 
put  on  his  back,  and  under  this  double  burden  was 
pushing  against  the  crowd  for  half  an  hour,  till  at 
length  he  fell,  and  was  all  but  killed. 

A  troop  of  cuirassiers  had  by  this  time  mounted, 
and  through  the  Champ  de  Mars  came  slowly 
along,  step  by  step,  their  horses  moving  as  gently 


Gunpowder  Perils.  295 

and  cautiously  as  if  they  knew  their  work.  Every- 
where, as  they  advanced,  little  children  were  held 
up  to  them  out  of  the  throng  to  be  saved,  and  many 
of  their  chargers  were  loaded  with  the  little  crea- 
tures, perched  before  and  behind  the  kind  soldier. 
With  wonderful  patience  and  forbearance,  they 
managed  to  insert  themselves  and  their  horses, 
first  in  single  file,  then  two  by  two,  then  more 
abreast,  like  a  wedge,  into  the  press,  until  at  last 
they  formed  a  wall,  cutting  olT  the  crowd  behind 
from  the  mass  in  the  gatewiy,  and  thus  preventing 
the  encumbrance  from  increasing.  The  people 
cime  to  their  senses,  and  went  off  to  other  gates, 
and  the  crowd  diminishing,  it  became  possible  to 
lift  up  the  many  unhappy  creatures  who  lay  stifling 
or  crushed  in  the  heap.  They  were  carried  into 
the  barracks,  the  cuirassiers  hurried  to  bring  their 
mittresses  to  lay  them  on  in  the  hall,  brought  them 
water,  linen,  all  they  could  want,  and  were  as 
tender  to  them  as  sisters  of  charity,  till  they  were 
taken  to  the  hospitals  or  to  their  homes.  Martinel, 
who  was  the  moving  spirit  in  this  gallant  rescue, 
received  in  the  following  year  one  of  M.  Monthy- 
on's  prizes  for  the  greatest  acts  of  virtue  that  could 
be  brought  to  light. 

Nor  among  the  gallant  actions  of  which  powder 
has  been  the  cause,  should  be  omitted  that  of 
Lieutenant  Willoughby,  who,  in  the  first  dismay 
of  the  mutiny  in  India,  in  1858,  blew  up  the  great 
magazine  at  Delhi,  with  all  the  ammunition  that 
would  have  armed  the  sepoys  even  yet  more  terri- 
bly against  ourselves.  That  "  Golden  Deed  "  was 
one  of  those  capable  of  no  earthly  meed,  for  it 
carried  the  brave  young  officer  where  alone  there 
is  true  reward ;  and  all  the  queen  and  country 
could  do  in  his  honor  was  to  pension  his  widowed 
mother,  and  lay  up  his  name  among  those  that  stir 
the  heart  with  admiration  and  gratitude. 


HEROES    OF   THE   PLAGUE 
1576 —  1665  —  1721. 

WHEN  our  Litany  entreats  that  we  may  be 
delivered  from  "  plague,  pestilence  and  fam- 
ine," the  first  of  these  words  bears  a  special 
meaning,  which  came  home  with  strong  and  pain- 
ful force  to  European  minds  at  the  time  the  Prayer- 
Book  was  translated,  and  for  the  whole  following 
century. 

It  refers  to  the  deadly  sickness  emphatically 
called  "the  plague.'"  a  typhoid  fever  exceedingly 
violent  and  rapid,  and  accompanied  with  a  frightful 
swelling  either  under  the  arm  or  on  the  correspond- 
ing part  of  the  thigh.  The  East  is  the  usual  haunt 
of  this  fatal  complaint,  which  some  suppose  to  be 
bred  by  the  marshy,  unwholesome  state  of  Egypt 
after  the  subsidence  of  the  waters  of  the  Nile,  and 
which  generally  prevails  in  Egypt  and  Syria  until 
its  course  is  checked  either  by  the  cold  of  winter 
or  the  heat  in  summer.  At  times  this  disease  has 
become  unusually  malignant  and  infectious,  and 
then  has  come  beyond  its  usual  boundaries,  and 
made  its  way  over  all  the  West.  These  dreadful 
visitations  were  rendered  more  frequent  by  total 
disregard  of  all  precautions,  and  ignorance  of  laws 
for  preserving  health.  People  crowded  together 
in  towns  without  means  of  obtaining  sufficient  air 
or  cleanliness,  and  thus  were  sure  to  be  unhealthv  ; 


Heroes  of  the  Plague.  297 

and  whenever  war  or  famine  had  occasioned  more 
than  usual  poverty,  some  frightful  epidemic  was 
sure  to  follow  in  its  train,  and  sweep  away  the  poor 
creatures  whose  frames  were  already  weakened  by 
previous  privation.  And  often  this  "sore  judg- 
ment "  was  that  emphatically  called  the  plague  ; 
especially  during  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries,  a  time  when  war  had  become  far  more 
cruel  and  mischievous  in  the  hands  of  hired  regi- 
ments than  ever  it  had  been  with  a  feudal  army, 
and  when  at  the  same  time  increasing  trade  was 
filling  the  cities  with  more  closely  packed  inhabit- 
ants, within  fortifications  that  would  not  allow  the 
city  to  expand  in  proportion  to  its  needs.  It  has 
been  only  the  establishment  of  the  system  of  quar- 
antine which  has  succeeded  in  cutting  off  the 
course  of  infection  by  which  the  plague  was  wont 
to  set  out  on  its  frightful  travels  from  land  to  land, 
from  city  to  city. 

The  desolation  of  a  plague-stricken  city  was  a 
sort  of  horrible  dream.  Every  infected  house  was 
marked  with  a  red  cross,  and  carefully  closed 
against  all  persons,  except  those  who  were  charged 
to  drive  carts  through  the  streets  to  collect  the 
corpses,  ringing  a  bell  as  they  went.  These  men 
were  generally  wretched  beings,  the  lowest  and 
most  reckless  of  the  people,  who  undertook  their 
frightful  task  for  the  sake  of  the  plunder  of  the 
desolate  houses,  and  wound  themselves  up  by  in- 
toxicating drinks  to  endure  the  horrors.  The 
bodies  were  thrown  into  large  trenches,  without 
prayer  or  funeral  rites,  and  these  were  hastily 
closed  up.  Whole  families  died  together,  untended 
save  by  one  another,  with  no  aid  from  without,  and 
the  last  chances  of  life  would  be  lost  for  want  of  a 
friendly  hand  to  give  drink  or  food  ;  and,  in  the 
Roman  Catholic  cities,  the  perishing  without  a 
priest  to  administer  the  last  rites  of  the  Church 
was  viewed  as  more  dreadful  than  death  itself. 


29S  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Such  visitations  as  these  did  indeed  prove 
whether  the  pastors  of  the  afflicted  flock  were 
shepherds  or  hirelings.  So  felt,  in  1576,  Cardinal 
Carlo  Borromeo,  Archbishop  of  Milan,  the  worthi- 
est of  all  the  successors  of  St.  Ambrose,  when  he 
learnt  at  Lodi  that  the  plague  had  made  its  appear- 
ance in  his  city,  where,  remarkably  enough,  there 
had  lately  been  such  licentious  revelry  that  he  had 
solemnly  warned  the  people  that,  unless  they  re- 
pented, they  would  certainly  bring  on  themselves 
the  wrath  of  Heaven.  His  council  of  clergy  advised 
him  to  remain  in  some  healthy  part  of  his  diocese 
till  the  sickness  should  have  spent  itself,  but  he 
replied  that  a  Bishop,  whose  duty  it  is  to  give  his 
life  for  his  sheep,  could  not  rightly  abandon  them 
in  time  of  peril.  They  owned  that  to  stand  by 
them  was  the  higher  course.  "Well,"  he  said, 
"is  it  not  a  Bishop's  duty  to  choose  the  higher 
course  ? " 

So  back  into  the  town  of  deadly  sickness  he  went, 
leading  the  people  to  repent,  and  watching  over 
them  in  their  sufferings,  visiting  the  hospitals,  and, 
by  his  own  example,  encouraging  his  clergy  in  car- 
rying spiritual  consolation  to  the  dying.  All  the 
time  the  plague  lasted,  which  was  four  months,  his 
exertions  were  fearless  and  unwearied,  and  what 
was  remarkable  was,  that  of  his  whole  household 
only  two  died,  and  they  were  persons  who  had  not 
been  called  to  go  about  among  the  sick.  Indeed, 
some  of  the  rich  who  had  repaired  to  a  villa,  where 
they  spent  their  time  in  feasting  and  amusement  in 
the  luxurious  Italian  fashion,  were  there  followed 
by  the  pestilence,  and  all  perished  ;  their  dainty 
fare  and  the  excess  in  which  they  indulged  having 
no  doubt  been  as  bad  a  preparation  as  the  poverty 
of  the  starving  people  in  the  city. 

The  strict  and  regular  life  of  the  Cardinal  and  his 
clergy,  and  their  home  in  the  spacious  palace,  were, 


Heroes  of  the  Plague.  299 

no  doubt,  under  Providence,  a  preservative  ;  but,  in 
the  opinions  of  the  time,  there  was  little  short  of  a 
miracle  in  the  safety  of  one  who  daily  preached  in 
the  cathedral,  —  bent  over  the  beds  of  the  sick,  giv- 
ing them  food  and  medicine,  hearing  their  confes- 
sions, and  administering  the  last  rites  of  the 
Church, — and  then  braving  the  contagion  after 
death,  rather  than  let  the  corpses  go  forth  unblest 
to  their  common  grave.  Nay,  so  far  was  he  from 
seeking  to  save  his  own  life,  that,  kneeling  before 
the  altar  in  the  cathedral,  he  solemnly  offered  him- 
self, like  Moses,  as  a  sacrifice  for  his  people.  But, 
like  Moses,  the  sacrifice  was  passed  by,  —  "  it  cost 
more  to  redeem  their  souls," — and  Borromeo  re- 
mained untouched,  as  did  the  twenty-eight  priests 
who  voluntarily  offered  themselves  to  join  in  his 
labors. 

No  wonder  that  the  chief  memories  that  haunt 
the  glorious  white  marble  cathedral  of  Milan  are 
those  of  St.  Ambrose,  who  taught  mercy  to  an  em- 
peror, and  of  St.  Carlo  Borromeo,  who  practised 
mercy  on  a  people. 

It  was  a  hundred  years  later  that  the  greatest  and 
last  visitation  of  the  pladfte  took  place  in  London. 
Doubtless,  the  scourge  called  forth, — as  in  Chris- 
tian lands  such  judgments  always  do,  —  many  an 
act  of  true  and  blessed  self-devotion  ;  but  these  are 
not  recorded,  save  where  they  have  their  reward  : 
and  the  tale  now  to  be  told  is  of  one  of  the  small 
villages  to  which  the  infection  spread,  —  namely, 
Eyam,  in  Derbyshire. 

This  is  a  lovely  place  between  Buxton  and  Chats- 
worth,  perched  high  on  a  hillside,  and  shut  in  by 
another  higher  mountain,  —  extremely  beautiful,  but 
exactly  one  of  those  that,  for  want  of  free  air, 
always  become  the  especial  prey  of  infection.  At 
that  time  lead  works  were  in  operation  in  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  village  was  thickly  inhabited.     Great 


300  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

was  the  dismay  of  the  villagers  when  the  family  of 
a  tailor,  who  had  received  some  patterns  of  cloth 
from  London,  showed  symptoms  of  the  plague  in 
its  most  virulent  form,  sickening  and  dying  in  one 
day. 

The  rector  of  the  parish,  the  Rev.  William  Mom- 
pesson,  was  still  a  young  man,  and  had  been  mar- 
ried only  a  few  years.  His  wife,  a  beautiful  young 
woman,  only  twenty-seven  years  old,  was  exceed- 
ingly terrified  at  the  tidings  from  the  village,  and 
wept  bitterly  as  she  implored  her  husband  to  take 
her,  and  her  little  George  and  Elizabeth,  who  were 
three  and  four  years  old,  away  to  some  place  of 
safety.  But  Mr.  Mompesson  gravely  showed  her 
that  it  was  his  duty  not  to  forsake  his  flock  in  their 
hour  of  need,  and  began  at  once  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  sending  her  and  the  children  away.  She 
saw  he  was  right  in  remaining,  and  ceased  to  urge 
him  to  forsake  his  charge  ;  but  she  insisted  that,  if 
he  ought  not  to  desert  his  flock,  his  wife  ought  not 
to  leave  him  ;  and  she  wept  and  entreated  so  ear- 
nestly, that  he  at  length  consented  that  she  should 
be  with  him,  and  that  only  the  two  little  ones  should 
be  removed  while  yet  there  was  time. 

Their  father  and  mother  parted  with  the  little 
ones  as  treasures  that  they  might  never  see  again. 
At  the  same  time  Mr.  Mompesson  wrote  to  London 
for  the  most  approved  medicines  and  prescriptions  ; 
and  he  likewise  sent  a  letter  to  the  Earl  of  Devon- 
shire, at  Chatsworth,  to  engage  that  his  parishioners 
should  exclude  themselves  from  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood, and  thus  confine  the  contagion  within  their 
own  boundaries,  provided  the  Earl  would  undertake 
that  food,  medicines,  and  other  necessaries,  should 
be  placed  at  certain  appointed  spots,  at  regular 
times,  upon  the  hills  around,  where  the  Eyamites 
might  come,  leave  payment  for  them,  and  take  them 
up,  without  holding  any  communication    with  the 


Heroes  of  the  Plague.  30 1 

bringers,  except  by  letters,  which  could  be  placed  on 
a  stone,  then  fumigated,  or  passed  through  vinegar, 
before  they  were  touched  with  the  hand.  To  this 
the  Earl  consented,  and  for  seven  whole  months 
the  engagement  was  kept. 

Mr.  Mompesson  represented  to  his  people  that, 
with  the  plague  once  among  them,  it  would  be  so 
unlikely  that  they  should  not  carry  infection  about 
with  them,  that  it  would  be  selfish  cruelty  to  other 
places  to  try  to  escape  amongst  them,  and  thus 
spread  the  danger.  So  rocky  and  wild  was  the 
ground  around  them,  that,  had  they  striven  to  es- 
cape, a  regiment  of  soldiers  could  not  have  pre- 
vented them.  But  of  their  own  free  will  they  at- 
tended to  their  Rector's  remonstrance,  and  it  was 
not  known  that  one  parishioner  of  Eyam  passed  the 
boundary  all  that  time,  nor  was  there  a  single  case 
of  plague  in  any  of  the  villages  around. 

The  assembling  of  large  congregations  in  churches 
had  been  thought  to  increase  the  infection  in  Lon- 
don, and  Mr.  Mompesson,  therefore,  thought  it  best 
to  hold  his  services  out-of-doors.  In  the  middle  of 
the  village  is  a  dell,  suddenly  making  a  cleft  in  the 
mountain-side,  only  five  yards  wide  at  the  bottom, 
which  is  the  pebbly  bed  of  a  wintry  torrent,  but  is  dry 
in  the  summer.  On  the  side  towards  the  village, 
the  slope  upwards  was  of  soft  green  turf  scattered 
with  hazel,  rowan,  and  alder  bushes,  and  full  of  sing- 
ing birds.  On  the  other  side,  the  ascent  was 
nearly  perpendicular,  and  composed  of  sharp  rocks, 
partly  adorned  with  bushes  and  ivy,  and  here  and 
there  rising  up  in  fantastic  peaks  and  archways, 
through  which  the  sky  could  be  seen  from  below. 
One  of  these  rocks  was  hollow,  and  could  be  entered 
from  above,  —  a  natural  gallery,  leading  to  an  arch- 
way opening  over  the  precipice  ;  and  this  Mr.  Mom- 
pesson chose  for  his  reading-desk  and  pulpit.  The 
dell  was  so  narrow,  that  his  voice  could  clearly  be 


302  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

heard  across  it,  and  his  congregation  arranged  them- 
selves upon  the  green  slope  opposite,  seated  or 
kneeling  upon  the  grass. 

On  Wednesdays,  Fridays,  and  Sundays  arose  the 
earnest  voice  of  prayer  from  that  rocky  glen,  the 
people's  response  meeting  the  pastor's  voice  ;  and 
twice  on  Sundays  he  preached  to  them  the  words  of 
life  and  hope.  It  was  a  dry  hot  summer  ;  fain  would 
they  have  seen  thunder  and  rain  to  drive  away  their 
enemy  ;  and  seldom  did  weather  break  in  on  the 
regularity  of  these  services.  But  there  was  another 
service  that  the  rector  had  daily  to  perform  ;  not  in 
his  churchyard  —  that  would  have  perpetuated  the 
infection  —  but  on  a  heathy  hill  above  the  village. 
There  he  daily  read  of  "  the  Resurrection  and  the 
Life,"  and  week  by  week  the  company  on  the  grassy 
slope  grew  fewer  and  scantier.  His  congregation 
were  passing  from  the  dell  to  the  heathy  mound. 

Day  and  night  the  rector  and  his  wife  were  among 
the  sick,  nursing,  feeding,  and  tending  them  with  ail 
that  care  and  skill  could  do  ;  but.  in  spite  of  all 
their  endeavors,  only  a  fifth  part  of  the  whole  of  the 
inhabitants  lived  to  spend  the  last  Sunday  in  Cuck- 
let  Church,  as  the  dell  is  still  called.  Mrs.  Mom- 
pesson  had  persuaded  her  husband  to  have  a  wound 
made  in  his  leg,  fancying  that  this  would  lessen  the 
danger  of  infection,  and  he  yielded  in  order  to  sat- 
isfy her.  His  health  endured  perfectly,  but  she  be- 
gan to  waste  under  her  constant  exertions,  and  her 
husband  feared  that  he  saw  symptoms  of  consump- 
tion ;  but  she  was  full  of  delight  at  some  appear- 
ances in  his  wound  that  made  her  imagine  that  it 
had  carried  off  the  disease,  and  that  his  danger  was 
over. 

A  few  days  after,  she  sickened  with  symptoms  of 
the  plague,  and  her  frame  was  so  weakened  that 
she  sank  very  quickly.  She  was  often  delirious  ; 
but  when  she  was  too  much  exhausted  to  endure 


Heroes  of  the  Plague.  303 

the  exertion  of  taking  cordials,  her  husband  en- 
treated her  to  try  for  their  children's  sake,  she  lifted 
herself  up  and  made  the  endeavor.  She  lay  peace- 
fully, saying,  "  she  was  but  looking  for  the  good 
hour  to  come,"  and  calmly  died,  making  the  respon- 
ses to  her  husband's  prayers  even  to  the  last.  Her 
he  buried  in  the  churchyard,  and  fenced  the  grave 
in  afterwards  with  iron  rails.  There  are  two  beau- 
tiful letters  from  him  written  on  her  death,  — one  to 
his  little  children,  to  be  kept  and  read  when  they 
would  be  old  enough  to  understand  it ;  the  other  to 
his  patron,  Sir  George  Saville,  afterwards  Lord 
Halifax.  "My  drooping  spirits,"  he  says,  "are 
much  refreshed  with  her  joys,  which  I  assure  my- 
self are  unutterable."  He  wrote  both  these  letters 
in  the  belief  that  he  should  soon  follow  her,  speak- 
ing of  himself  to  Sir  George  as  "  his  dying  chap- 
lain," commending  to  him  his  "distressed  orphans," 
and  begging  that  a  "  humble  pious  man  "  might  be 
chosen  to  succeed  him  in  his  parsonage.  "  Sir,  I 
thank  God  that  I  am  willing  to  shake  hands  in 
peace  with  all  the  world  ;  and  I  have  comfortable 
assurances  that  He  will  accept  me  for  the  sake  of 
His  Son  ;  and  I  find  God  more  good  than  ever  I 
imagined,  and  wish  that  His  goodness  were  not  so 
much  abused  and  contemned,"  writes  the  widowed 
pastor,  left  alone  among  his  dying  flock.  And  he 
concludes,  "  and  with  tears  I  entreat  that  when  you 
are  praying  for  fatherless  and  motherless  infants, 
you  would  then  remember  my  two  pretty  babes." 

These  two  letters  were  written  on  the  last  day  of 
August  and  1st  of  September,  1666;  but  on  the 
20th  of  November,  Mr.  Mompesson  was  writing 
to  his  uncle,  in  the  lull  after  the  storm.  "  The  con- 
dition of  this  place  hath  been  so  dreadful,  that  I 
persuade  myself  it  exceedeth  all  history  and  exam- 
ple. I  may  truly  say  our  town  has  become  a  Gol- 
gotha, a  place  of  skulls  ;  and  had  there  not  been  a 


304  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

small  remnant  of  us  left,  we  had  been  as  Sodom, 
and  like  unto  Gomorrah.  My  ears  never  heard 
such  doleful  lamentations,  my  nose  never  smelt 
such  noisome  smells,  and  my  eyes  never  beheld 
such  ghastly  spectacles.  Here  have  been  seventy- 
six  families  visited  within  my  parish,  out  of  which 
died  two  hundred  and  fifty-nine  persons." 

However,  since  the  nth  of  October  there  had 
been  no  fresh  cases,  and  he  was  now  burning  all 
woollen  clothes,  lest  the  infection  should  linger  in 
them.  He  himself  had  never  been  touched  by  the 
complaint,  nor  had  his  maid-servant ;  his  man  had 
had  it  but  slightly.  Mr.  Mompesson  lived  many 
more  years,  was  offered  the  Deanery  of  Lincoln, 
but  did  not  accept  it,  and  died  in  1708.  So  virulent 
was  the  contagion,  that,  ninety-one  years  after,  in 
1757,  when  five  laboring  men,  who  were  digging  up 
land  near  the  plague-graves  for  a  potato-garden, 
came  upon  what  appeared  to  be  some  linen,  though 
they  buried  it  again  directly,  they  all  sickened  with 
typhus  fever,  three  of  them  died,  and  it  was  so  in- 
fectious that  no  less  than  seventy  persons  in  the 
parish  were  carried  off. 

The  last  of  these  remarkable  visitations  of  the 
plague,  properly  so  called,  was  at  Marseilles,  in 
1 72 1.  It  was  supposed  to  have  been  brought  by  a 
vessel  which  sailed  from  Seyde,  in  the  Bay  of  Tunis, 
on  the  31st  of  January,  1720,  which  had  a  clean  bill 
of  health  when  it  anchored  off  the  Chateau  dTf,  at 
Marseilles,  on  the  25th  of  May  ;  but  six  of  the  crew 
were  found  to  have  died  on  the  voyage,  and  the  per- 
sons who  handled  the  freight  also  died,  though,  it 
was  said,  without  any  symptoms  of  the  plague,  and 
the  first  cases  were  supposed  to  be  of  the  fevers 
caused  by  excessive  poverty  and  crowding.  The 
unmistakable  Oriental  plague,  however,  soon  began 
to  spread  in  the  city  among  the  poorer  population, 
and  in  truth  the  wars  and  heavy  expenses  of  Louis 


Heroes  of  the  Plague.  305 

XIV.  had  made  poverty  in  France  more  wretched 
than  ever  before,  and  the  whole  country  was  like  one 
deadly  sore,  festering,  and  by-and-by  to  come  to  a 
fearful  crisis.  Precautions  were  taken,  the  infected 
families  were  removed  to  the  infirmaries,  and  their 
houses  walled  up,  but  all  this  was  done  at  night  in 
order  not  to  excite  alarm.  The  mystery,  however, 
made  things  more  terrible  to  the  imagination,  and 
this  was  a  period  of  the  utmost  selfishness.  All  the 
richer  inhabitants  who  had  the  means  of  quitting 
the  city,  and  who  were  the  very  people  who  could 
have  been  useful  there,  fled  with  one  accord.  Sud- 
denly the  lazzaretto  was  left  without  superintend- 
ents, the  hospitals  without  stewards  ;  the  judges, 
public  officers,  notaries,  and  most  of  the  superior 
workmen  in  the  most  necessary  trades  were  all 
gone.  Only  the  Provost  and  four  municipal  officers 
remained,  with  1,100  livres  in  their  treasury,  in  the 
midst  of  an  entirely  disorganized  city,  and  an  enor- 
mous population  without  work,  without  restraint, 
without  food,  and  a  prey  to  the  deadliest  of  diseases. 

The  Parliament  which  still  survived  in  the  ancient 
kingdom  of  Provence  signalized  itself  by  retreating 
to  a  distance,  and  on  the  31st  of  May  putting  out  a 
decree  that  nobody  should  pass  a  boundary  line 
round  Marseilles  on  pain  of  death  ;  but  considering 
what  people  were  trying  to  escape  from,  and  the 
utter  overthrow  of  all  rule  and  order,  this  penalty 
was  not  likely  to  have  much  effect,  and  the  plague 
was  carried  by  the  fugitives  to  Aries,  Aix,  Touion, 
and  sixty-three  lesser  towns  and  villages.  What  a 
contrast  to  Mr.  Mompesson's  moral  influence  ! 

Horrible  crimes  were  committed.  Malefactors 
were  released  from  the  prisons  and  convicts  from 
the  galleys,  and  employed  for  large  payment  to  col- 
lect the  corpses  and  carry  the  sick  to  the  infirma- 
ries. Of  course,  they  could  only  be  wrought  up  to 
such  work  by  intoxication  and  unlimited  opportuni- 


306  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

ties  of  plunder,  and  their  rude  treatment  both  of 
the  dead  and  of  the  living  sufferers  added  unspeak- 
ably to  the  general  wretchedness.  To  be  carried  to 
the  infirmary  was  certain  death,  —  no  one  lived  in 
that  heap  of  contagion  ;  and  even  this  shelter  was 
not  always  to  be  had,  —  some  of  the  streets  were 
full  of  dying  creatures  who  had  been  turned  out  of 
their  houses  and  could  crawl  no  farther. 

What  was  done  to  alleviate  all  these  horrors  ?  It 
was  in  the  minority  of  Louis  XV.  and  the  Regent 
Duke  of  Orleans,  easy,  good-natured  man  that  he 
was,  sent  22,000  marks  to  the  relief  of  the  city,  all 
in  silver,  for  paper  money  was  found  to  spread  the 
infection  more  than  anything  else.  He  also  sent  a 
great  quantity  of  corn,  and  likewise  doctors  for  the 
sick,  and  troops  to  shut  in  the  infected  district. 
The  Pope,  Clement  XI.  sent  spiritual  blessings  to 
the  sufferers,  and,  moreover,  three  ship-loads  of 
wheat.  The  Regent's  Prime  Minister,  the  Abbe 
Dubois,  the  shame  of  his  Church  and  country,  fan- 
cied that  to  send  these  supplies  cast  a  slight  upon 
his  administration,  and  desired  his  representative  at 
Rome  to  prevent  the  sailing  of  the  ships,  but  his 
orders  were  not  for  very  shame  carried  out,  and  the 
vessels  set  out.  On  their  way  they  were  seized  by 
a  Moorish  corsair,  who  was  more  merciful  than 
Dubois,  for  he  no  sooner  learnt  their  destination 
than  he  let  them  go  unplundered. 

And  in  the  midst  of  the  misery  there  were  bright 
lights  "  running  to  and  fro  among  the  stubble."  The 
Provost  and  his  five  remaining  officers,  and  a  gentle- 
man called  Le  Chevalier  Rose,  did  their  utmost  in 
the  bravest  and  most  unselfish  way  to  help  the 
sufferers,  distribute  food,  provide  shelter,  restrain 
the  horrors  perpetrated  by  the  sick  in  their  ravings, 
and  provide  for  the  burial  of  the  dead.  And  the 
clergy  were  all  devoted  to  the  task  of  mercy.  There 
was  only  one  convent,  that  of  St.  Victor,  where  the 


Heroes  of  the  Plague.  307 

gates  were  closed  against  all  comers,  in  the  hope 
of  shutting  out  infection.  Every  other  monastic 
establishment  freely  devoted  itself.  It  was  a  time 
when  party  spirit  ran  high.  The  Bishop,  Henri 
Francois  Xavier  de  Belzunce,  a  nephew  of  the  Duke 
de  Lauzun,  was  a  strong  and  rigid  Jesuit,  and  had 
joined  so  hotly  in  the  persecution  of  the  Jansenists 
that  he  had  forbidden  the  brotherhood  called  Ora- 
torian  Fathers  to  hear  confessions,  because  he  sus- 
pected them  of  a  leaning  to  Jansenist  opinions  ;  but 
he  and  they  both  alike  worked  earnestly  in  the  one 
cause  of  mercy.  They  were  content  to  obey  his 
prejudiced  edict,  since  he  was  in  lawful  authority, 
and  threw  themselves  heartily  into  the  lower  and 
more  disdained  services  to  the  sick,  as  nurses  and 
tenders  of  the  body  alone,  not  of  the  soul,  and  in 
this  work  their  whole  community,  Superior  and  all, 
perished,  almost  without  exception.  Perhaps  these 
men,  thus  laying  aside  hurt  feeling  and  sense  of  in- 
justice, were  the  greatest  conquerors  of  all  whose 
golden  deeds  we  have  described. 

Bishop  Belzunce  himself,  however,  stands  as  the 
prominent  figure  in  the  memory  of  those  dreadful 
five  months.  He  was  a  man  of  commanding  stat- 
ure, towering  above  all  around  him  ;  and  his  fer- 
vent sermons,  aided  by  his  example  of  severe  and 
strict  piety,  and  his  great  charities,  had  greatly  im- 
pressed the  people.  He  now  went  about  among  the 
plague-stricken,  attending  to  their  wants,  both  spir- 
itual and  temporal,  and  sold  or  mortgaged  all  his 
property  to  obtain  relief  for  them,  and  he  actually 
went  himself  in  the  tumbrils  of  corpses  to  give  them 
the  rites  of  Christian  burial.  His  doings  closely  re- 
sembled those  of  Cardinal  Borromeo,  and  like  him 
he  had  recourse  to  constant  preachings  of  repent- 
ance, processions,  and  assemblies  for  litanies  in  the 
church.  It  is  curiously  characteristic  that  it  was  the 
English  clergyman,  who,  equally  pious,  and  sensible 


308  A  Book  of  Golden  Dad:. 

that  only  the  Almighty  could  remove  the  scourge. 
yet  deemed  it  right  to  take  precautions  against  the 
effects  of  bringing  a  large  number  of  persons  into 
one  building.  How  Belzunce"s  clergy  seconded  him 
may  be  gathered  from  the  numbers  who  died  of  the 
disease.  Besides  the  Oratorians,  there  died  eighteen 
Jesuits,  twenty-six  of  the  order  called  Recollets.  and 
forty-three  Capuchins,  all  of  whom  had  freely  given 
their  lives  in  the  endeavor  to  alleviate  the  general 
suffering.  In  the  four  chief  towns  of  Provence  8o;- 
coo  died,  and  about  8.000  in  the  lesser  places.  The 
winter  finally  checked  the  destroyer,  arc:  then,  >.^1 
to  say.  it  appeared  how  little  effect  the  warning  had 
had  on  the  survivors.  Inheritances  had  fallen  to- 
gether into  the  hands  of  persons  who  found  them- 
selves rich  beyond  their  expectaticrs.  and  :r  the 
glee  of  having  escaped  the  danger,  forgot  to  be 
thankful  and  spent  their  wealth  in  revelry.  Never 
had  the  cities  of  Provence  been  so  full  of  wild, 
questionable  mirth  as  during  the  ensuing  winter, 
and  it  was  remarked  that  the  places  which  had 
suffered  most  severely  were  the  most  given  up  to 
thoughtless  gayety,  and  even  licentiousness. 

Good  Bishop  Belzunce  did  his  best  to  protest 
against  the  wickedness  around  him.  and  refused  to 
leave  his  flock  at  Marseilles,  when,  four  years  after. 
a  far  more  distinguished  see  was  offered  to  him.  He 
died  in  1755-  in  rime  to  escape  the  sight  of  the  retri- 
bution that  was  soon  worked  out  on  the  folly  and 
vice  of  the  unhappy  country. 


0jf*\ 


THE    SECOND    OF    SEPTEMBER. 

1792. 

THE  reign  of  the  terrible  Tzar  was  dreadful,  but 
there  was  even  a  more  dreadful  time,  that  which 
might  be  called  the  reign  of  the  madness  of  the  peo- 
ple. The  oppression  and  injustice  that  had  for 
generations  past  been  worked  out  in  France  ended 
in  the  most  fearful  reaction  that  history  records,  and 
the  horrors  that  took  place  in  the  Revolution  pass 
all  thought  or  description.  Every  institution  that 
had  been  misused  was  overthrown  at  one  fell  swoop, 
and  the  whole  accumulated  vengeance  of  generations 
fell  on  the  heads  of  the  persons  who  occupied  the 
positions  of  the  former  oppressors.  Many  of  these 
were  as  pure  and  guiltless  as  their  slaughterers 
were  the  reverse,  but  the  heads  of  the  Revolution 
imagined  that  to  obtain  their  ideal  vision  of  perfect 
justice  and  liberty,  all  the  remnants  of  the  former 
state  of  things  must  be  swept  away,  and  the  fero- 
cious beings  who  carried  out  their  decrees  had  be- 
come absolutely  frantic  with  delight  in  bloodshed. 
The  nation  seemed  delivered  up  to  a  delirium  of 
murder.     But  as 

"  Even  as  earth's  wild  war  cries  heighten, 
The  cross  upon  the  brow  will  brighten," 

these  times  of  surpassing  horror  were  also  times  of 


310  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

surpassing  devotion  and  heroism.  Without  attempt- 
ing to  describe  the  various  stages  of  the  Revolution, 
and  the  different  committees  that  under  different 
titles  carried  on  the  work  of  destruction,  we  will 
mention  some  of  the  deeds  that  shine  out  as  we 
look  into  that  abyss  of  horror,  the  Paris  of  1792  and 
the  following  years. 

Think  of  the  Swiss  Guards,  who,  on  the  10th  of 
August,  1792.  the  miserable  day  when  the  king, 
queen,  and  children  were  made  the  captives  of  the 
people,  stood  resolutely  at  their  posts,  till  they  were 
massacred  almost  to  a  man.  Well  is  their  fidelity 
honored  by  the  noble  sculpture  near  Lucerne,  cut 
out  in  the  living  rock  of  their  own  Alps,  and  repre- 
senting a  lion  dying  to  defend  the  fleur-de-lis. 

A  more  dreadful  day  still  was  in  preparation. 
The  mob  seemed  to  have  imagined  that  the  king 
and  nobility  had  some  strange,  dreadful  power,  and 
that  unless  they  were  all  annihilated  they  would 
rise  up  and  trample  all  down  before  them,  and 
those  who  had  the  direction  of  affairs  profited  by 
this  delusion  to  multiply  executioners,  and  clear 
away  all  that  they  supposed  to  stand  in  the  way  of 
the  renewal  of  the  nation.  And  the  attempts  of  the 
emigrant  nobilitv  and  of  the  German  princes  to 
march  to  the  rescue  of  the  royal  family  added  to 
the  fury  of  their  cowardly  ferocity.  The  prisons 
of  Paris  were  crowded  to  overflowing  with  aristo- 
crats, as  it  was  the  fashion  to  call  the  nobles  and 
gentry,  and  with  the  clergy  who  had  refused  their 
adhesion  to  the  new  state  of  things.  The  whole 
number  is  reckoned  at  not  less  than  8.000. 

Among  those  at  the  Abbaye  de  St.  Germain  were 
M.  Jaques  Cazotte,  an  old  gentleman  of  seventy- 
three,  who  had  been  for  many  years  in  a  govern- 
ment office,  and  had  written  various  poems.  He 
was  living  in  the  country,  in  Champagne,  when  on 
the  1 8th  of  August  he  was  arrested.     His  daughter 


The  Second  of  September.  3 1 1 

Elizabeth,  a  lovely  girl  of  twenty,  would  not  leave 
him,  and  together  they  were  taken  first  to  Epernay 
and  then  to  Paris,  where  they  were  thrown  into  the 
Abbaye,  and  found  it  crowded  with  prisoners.  M. 
Cazotte's  bald  forehead  and  grey  locks  gave  him  a 
patriarchal  appearance,  and  his  talk,  deeply  and 
truly  pious,  was  full  of  Scripture  language,  as  he 
strove  to  persuade  his  fellow-captives  to  own  the 
true  blessings  of  suffering. 

Here  Elizabeth  met  the  like-minded  Marie  de 
Sombreuil,  who  had  clung  to  her  father,  Charles 
Viscount  de  Sombreuil,  the  Governor  of  the  Inva- 
lides,  or  pensioners  of  the  French  army  ;  and  here, 
too,  had  Madame  de  Fausse  Lendry  come  with  her 
old  uncle,  the  Abbe  de  Rastignac,  who  had  been 
for  three  months  extremely  ill,  and  was  only  just 
recovering  when  dragged  to  the  prison,  and  there 
placed  in  a  room  so  crowded  that  it  was  not  possi- 
ble to  turn  round,  and  the  air  in  the  end  of  August 
was  fearfully  close  and  heated.  Not  once  while 
there  was  the  poor  old  man  able  to  sleep.  His 
niece  spent  the  nights  in  a  room  belonging  to  the 
jailer,  with  the  Princess  de  Tarente,  and  Mademoi- 
selle de  Sombreuil. 

On  the  2d  of  September  these  slaughter-houses 
were  as  full  as  they  could  hold,  and  about  a  hun- 
dred ruffians,  armed  with  axes  and  guns,  were  sent 
round  to  all  the  jails  to  do  the  bloody  work.  It 
was  a  Sunday,  and  some  of  the  victims  had  tried 
to  observe  it  religiously,  though  little  divining  that 
it  was  to  be  their  last.  They  first  took  alarm  on 
perceiving  that  their  jailer  had  removed  his  family, 
and  then  that  he  sent  up  their  dinner  earlier  than 
usual,  and  removed  all  the  knives  and  forks.  By 
and  by  howls  and  shouts  were  heard,  and  the  tocsin 
was  heard  ringing,  alarm  guns  firing,  and  reports 
came  in  to  the  prisoners  of  Abbaye  that  the  popu- 
lace were  breaking  into  the  prisons. 


312  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

The  clergy  were  all  penned  up  together  in  the 
cloisters  of  the  Abbaye,  whither  they  had  been 
brought  in  carriages  that  morning.  Among  them 
was  the  Abbe  Sicard,  an  admirable  priest,  who  had 
spent  his  whole  lifetime  in  instructing  the  deaf  and 
dumb  in  his  own  house,  where  — 

"  The  cunning  finger  finely  twined 
The  subtle  thread  that  knitteth  mind  to  mind  ; 
There  that  strange  bridge  of  signs  was  built  where  roll 
The  sunless  waves  that  sever  soul  from  soul, 
And  by  the  arch,  no  bigger  than  a  hand, 
Truth  travelled  over  to  the  silent  land." 

He  had  been  arrested,  while  teaching  his  pupils, 
on  the  26th  of  August.  1792,  and  shut  up  among 
other  clergy  in  the  prison  of  the  Mayoralty  ;  but  the 
lads  whom  he  had  educated  came  in  a  body  to  ask 
leave  to  claim  him  at  the  bar  of  the  National  Assem- 
bly. Massieu,  his  best  scholar,  had  drawn  up  a 
most  touching  address,  saying,  that  in  him  the  deaf 
and  dumb  were  deprived  of  their  teacher,  nurse,  and 
father.  "  It  is  he  who  has  taught  us  what  we  know, 
without  him  we  should  be  as  the  beasts  of  the  field." 
This  petition,  and  the  gestures  of  the  poor  silent 
beings',  went  to  the  heart  of  the  National  Assembly. 
One  young  man,  named  Duhamel,  neither  deaf  nor 
dumb,  from  pure  admiration  of  the  good  work,  went 
and  offered  to  be  imprisoned  in  the  Abbe's  place. 
There  was  great  applause,  and  a  decree  was  passed 
that  the  cause  of  the  arrest  should  be  inquired  into, 
but  this  took  no  effect,  and  on  that  dreadful  after- 
noon. M.  Sicard  was  put  into  one  of  a  procession 
of  carriages,  which  drove  slowly  through  the  streets 
full  of  priests,  who  were  reviled,  pelted,  and  wounded 
by  the  populace  till  they  reached  the  Abbaye. 

In  the  turnkey's  rooms  sat  a  horrible  committee, 
who  acted  as  a  sort  of  tribunal,  but  very  few  of  the 
priests  reached  it.     They  were  for  the  most  part  cut 


The  Second  of  September.  313 

down  as  they  stepped  out  into  the  throng  in  the 
court;  —  consisting  of  red-capped  ruffians,  with  their 
shirt  sleeves  turned  up,  and  still  more  fiendish  wo- 
men, who  hounded  them  on  to  the  butchery,  and 
brought  them  wine  and  food.  Sicard  and  another 
priest  contrived,  while  their  companions  fell,  to  rush 
into  the  committee-room,  exclaiming,  "  Messieurs, 
preserve  an  unfortunate  !  " 

;'  Go  along  "  ;  they  said,  "  do  you  wish  us  to  get 
ourselves  massacred  ?  " 

But  one,  recognizing  him,  was  surprised,  knowing 
that  his  life  was  to  be  spared,  and  took  him  into  the 
room,  promising  to  save  him  as  long  as  possible. 
Here  the  two  priests  would  have  been  safe  but  for  a 
wretched  woman,  who  shrieked  out  to  the  murder- 
ers that  they  had  been  admitted,  and  loud  knocks 
and  demands  for  them  came  from  without.  Sicard 
thought  all  lost,  and  taking  out  his  watch,  begged 
one  of  the  committee  to  give  it  to  the  first  deaf  mute 
who  should  come  and  ask  for  him,  sure  that  it  would 
be  the  faithful  Massieu.  At  first  the  man  replied 
that  the  danger  was  not  imminent  enough  :  but  on 
hearing  a  more  furious  noise  at  the  door,  as  if  the 
mob  were  going  to  break  in,  he  took  the  watch  ;  and 
Sicard  falling  on  his  knees,  commended  his  soul  to 
God,  and  embraced  his  brother  priest. 

In  rushed  the  assassins  ;  they  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment, unable  to  distinguish  the  priests  from  the 
committee,  but  the  two  pikemen  found  them  out, 
and  his  companion  was  instantly  murdered.  The 
weapons  were  lifted  against  Sicard,  when  a  man 
pushed  through  the  crowd,  and  throwing  himself 
before  the  pike,  displayed  his  breast,  and  cried, 
"  Behold  the  bosom  through  which  you  must  pass 
to  reach  that  of  this  good  citizen.  You  do  not  know 
him.  He  is  the  Abbe  Sicard,  one  of  the  most  benev- 
olent of  men,  the  most  useful  to  his  country,  the 
father  of  the  deaf  and  dumb  !  " 


314  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

The  murderer  dropped  his  pike  ;  but  Sicard,  per- 
ceiving that  it  was  the  populace  who  were  the  real 
dispensers  of  life  or  death,  sprang  to  the  window, 
and  shouted,  "  Friends,  behold  an  innocent  man. 
Am  I  to  die  without  being  heard  ? " 

"You  were  among  the  rest,"  the  mob  shouted, 
"  therefore  you  are  as  bad  as  the  others." 

But  when  he  told  his  name,  the  cry  changed. 
"  He  is  the  father  of  the  deaf  and  dumb  !  he  is  too 
useful  to  perish  ;  his  life  is  spent  in  doing  good  ;  he 
must  be  saved."  And  the  murderers  behind  took 
him  up  in  their  arms,  and  carried  him  out  into  the 
court,  where  he  was  obliged  to  submit  to  be  em- 
braced by  the  whole  gang  of  ruffians,  who  wanted 
to  carry  him  home  in  triumph ;  but  he  did  not 
choose  to  go  without  being  legally  released,  and 
returning  into  the  committee-room,  he  learnt  for  the 
first  time  the  name  of  his  preserver,  one  Monnot,  a 
watchmaker,  who,  though  knowing  him  only  by 
character,  and  learning  that  he  was  among  the  cler- 
gy who  were  being  driven  to  the  slaughter,  had 
rushed  in  to  save  him. 

Sicard  remained  in  the  committee-room  while 
further  horrors  were  perpetrated  all  round,  and  at 
night  was  taken  to  the  little  room  called  Le  Violon, 
with  two  other  prisoners.  A  horrible  night  ensued  ; 
the  murders  on  the  outside  varied  with  drinking  and 
dancing  ;  and  at  three  o'clock  the  murderers  tried 
to  break  into  Le  Violon.  There  was  a  loft  far  over- 
head, and  the  other  two  prisoners  tried  to  persuade 
Sicard  to  climb  on  their  shoulders  to  reach  it,  say- 
ing that  his  life  was  more  useful  than  theirs.  How- 
ever, some  fresh  prey  was  brought  in,  which  drew 
off  the  attention  of  the  murderers,  and  two  days 
afterwards  Sicard  was  released  to  resume  his  life 
of  charity. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  night,  all  the  ladies  who 
had   accompanied    their    relatives   were   separated 


The  Second  of  September.  315 

from  them,  and  put  into  the  women's  room  ;  but 
when  morning  came  they  entreated  earnestly  to 
return  to  them,  but  Mademoiselle  de  Fausse  Len- 
dry  was  assured  that  her  uncle  was  safe,  and  they 
were  told  soon  after  that  all  who  remained  were 
pardoned.  About  twenty-two  ladies  were  together, 
and  were  called  to  leave  the  prison,  but  the  two 
who  went  first  were  at  once  butchered,  and  the  sen- 
try called  out  to  the  others,  "  It  is  a  snare,  go  back, 
do  not  show  yourselves."  They  retreated  ;  but  Ma- 
rie de  S ombre uil  had  made  her  way  to  her  father, 
and  when  he  was  called  down  into  the  court,  she 
came  with  him.  She  hung  round  him,  beseeching 
the  murderers  to  have  pity  on  his  gray  hairs,  and 
declaring  that  they  must  strike  him  only  through 
her.  One  of  the  ruffians,  touched  by  her  resolu- 
tion, called  out  that  they  should  be  allowed  to  pass 
if  the  girl  would  drink  to  the  health  of  the  nation. 
The  whole  court  was  swimming  with  blood,  and  the 
glass  he  held  out  to  her  was  full  of  something  red. 
Marie  would  not  shudder.  She  drank,  and  with 
the  applause  of  the  assassins  ringing  in  her  ears, 
she  passed  with  her  father  over  the  threshold  of 
the  fatal  gates,  into  such  freedom  and  safety  as 
Paris  could  then  afford.  Never  again  could  she 
see  a  glass  of  red  wine  without  a  shudder,  and  it 
was  generally  believed  that  it  was  actually  a  glass 
of  blood  that  she  had  swallowed,  though  she  always 
averred  that  this  was  an  exaggeration,  and  that  it 
had  been  only  her  impression  before  tasting  it  that 
so  horrible  a  draught  was  offered  to  her. 

The  tidings  that  Mademoiselle  de  Sombreuil  had 
saved  her  father  came  to  encourage  the  rest  of  the 
ladies,  and  when  calls  were  heard  for  "  Cazotte," 
Elizabeth  flew  out  and  joined  her  father,  and  in  like 
manner  stood  between  him  and  the  butchers,  till 
her  devotion  made  the  crowd  cry  "  Pardon  !  "  and 
one  of  the  men  employed  about  the  prison  opened 


316  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

a  passage  for  her,  by  which  she,  too,  led  her  father 
away. 

Madame  de  Fausse  Lendry  was  not  so  happy. 
Her  uncle  was  killed  early  in  the  day,  before  she 
was  aware  that  he  had  been  sent  for,  but  she  sur- 
vived to  relate  the  history  of  that  most  horrible 
night  and  day.  The  same  work  was  going  on  at  all 
the  other  prisons,  and  chief  among  the  victims  of 
La  Force  was  the  beautiful  Marie  Louise  of  Savoy, 
the  Princess  de  Lamballe.  and  one  of  the  most  inti- 
mate friends  of  the  queen.  A  young  widow  with- 
out children,  she  had  been  the  ornament  of  the 
court,  and  clever  learned  ladies  thought  her  frivo- 
lous, but  the  depth  of  her  nature  was  shown  in  the 
time  of  trial.  Her  old  father-in-law  had  taken  her 
abroad  with  him  when  the  danger  first  became  ap- 
parent but  as  soon  as  she  saw  that  the  queen  her- 
self was  aimed  at.  she  went  immediately  back  to 
France  to  comfort  her  and  share  her  fate. 

Since  the  terrible  ioth  of  August,  the  friends  had 
been  separated,  and  Madame  de  Lamballe  had  been 
in  the  prison  of  La  Force.  There,  on  the  evening 
of  the  2d  of  September,  she  was  brought  down  to 
the  tribunal,  and  told  to  swear  liberty,  equality,  and 
hatred  to  the  king  and  queen. 

••  I  will  readily  swear  the  two  former.  I  cannot 
swear  the  latter.     It  is  not  in  my  heart.'3 

■•  Swear  !     If  not.  you  are  dead."' 

She  raised  her  eyes,  lifted  her  hands,  and  made  a 
step  to  the  door.  Murderers  closed  her  in.  and  pike 
thrusts  in  a  few  moments  were  the  last  '*  stage  that 
carried  from  earth  to  heaven  "  the  gentle  woman 
who  had  loved  her  queenly  friend  to  the  death.  Lit- 
tle mattered  it  to  her  that  her  corpse  was  soon  torn 
limb  from  limb,  and  that  her  fair  ringlets  were  float- 
ing round  the  pike  on  which  her  head  was  borne 
past  her  friend's  prison  window.  Little  matters  it 
now  even  to  Marie  Antoinette.     The  worst  that  the 


The  Second  of  September.  3  r  7 

murderers  could  do  for  such  as  these  could  only- 
work  for  them  a  more  exceeding  weight  of  glory. 

M.  Cazotte  was  imprisoned  again  on  the  12th  of 
September,  and  all  his  daughter's  efforts  failed  to 
save  him.  She  was  taken  from  him,  and  he  died  on 
the  guillotine,  exclaiming,  "  I  die  as  I  have  lived, 
faithful  to  my  God  and  to  my  king."  And  the  same 
winter,  M.  de  Sombreuil  was  also  imprisoned  again. 
When  he  entered  the  prison  with  his  daughter,  all 
the  inmates  rose  to  do  her  honor.  In  the  ensuing 
June,  after  a  mock  trial,  her  father  and  brother  were 
put  to  death,  and  she  remained  for  many  years  alone 
with  only  the  memory  of  her  past  days. 


THE    VENDEENS. 

1793- 

^\T  THILE  the  greater  part  of  France  had  been 
V  V  falling  into  habits  of  self-indulgence,  and 
from  thence  into  infidelity  and  revolution,  there  was 
one  district  where  the  people  had  not  forgotten  to 
fear  God  and  honor  the  king. 

This  was  in  the  tract  surrounding  the  Loire,  the 
south  of  which  is  now  called  La  Yende'e.  and  was 
then  termed  the  Bocage,  or  the  Woodland.  It  is 
full  of  low  hills  and  narrow  valleys,  divided  into 
small  fields,  enclosed  by  high  thick  hedge-rows,  so 
that  when  viewed  from  the  top  of  one  of  the  hills 
the  whole  country  appears  perfectly  green,  excepting 
near  harvest-time,  when  small  patches  of  golden 
corn  catch  the  eye.  or  where  here  and  there  a  church- 
tower  peeps  above  the  trees,  in  the  midst  of  the  flat 
red-tiled  roofs  of  the  surrounding  village.  The  roads 
are  deep  lanes,  often  in  the  winter  beds  of  streams, 
and  in  the  summer  completely  roofed  by  the  thick 
foliage  of  the  trees,  whose  branches  meet  overhead. 
The  gentry  of  La  Yende'e,  instead  of  idling  their 
time  at  Paris,  lived  on  their  own  estates  in  kindly 
intercourse  with  their  neighbors,  and  constantly 
helping  and  befriending  their  tenants,  visiting  them 
at  their  farms,  talking  over  their  crops  and  cattle, 
giving  them  advice,  and  inviting  them  on  holidays 
to  dance  in  the  courts  of  their  castles,  and  them- 


The   Vendeens.  319 

selves  joining  in  their  sports.  The  peasants  were  a 
hard-working,  sober,  and  pious  people,  devoutly  at- 
tending their  churches,  reverencing  their  clergy,  and, 
as  well  they  might,  loving  and  honoring  their  good 
landlords. 

But  as  the  Revolution  began  to  make  its  deadly 
progress  at  Paris,  a  gloom  spread  over  this  happy 
country.  The  Paris  mob,  who  could  not  bear  to  see 
any  one  higher  in  station  than  themselves,  thirsted 
for  noble  blood,  and  the  gentry  were  driven  from 
France,  or  else  imprisoned  and  put  to  death.  An 
oath  contrary  to  the  laws  of  their  Church  was  re- 
quired of  the  clergy,  those  who  refused  it  were 
thrust  out  of  their  parishes  and  others  placed  in 
their  room  ;  and  throughout  France  all  the  youths 
of  a  certain  age  were  forced  to  draw  lots  to  decide 
who  should  serve  in  the  Republican  army. 

This  conscription  filled  up  the  measure.  The 
Vendeens  had  grieved  over  the  flight  of  their  land- 
lords, they  had  sheltered  and  hidden  their  priests, 
and  heard  their  ministrations  in  secret ;  but  when 
their  young  men  were  to  be  carried  away  from  them, 
and  made  the  defenders  and  instruments  of  those 
who  were  murdering  their  king,  overthrowing  their 
Church,  and  ruining  their  country,  they  could  endure 
it  no  longer,  but  in  the  spring  of  1793,  soon  after 
the  execution  of  Louis  XVI.,  a  rising  took  place  in 
Anjou,  at  the  village  of  St.  Florent,  headed  by  a 
pedler  named  Cathelineau,  and  they  drove  back  the 
Blues,  as  they  called  the  revolutionary  soldiers,  who 
had  come  to  enforce  the  conscription.  They  begged 
Monsieur  de  Bonchamp,  a  gentleman  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, to  take  the  command  ;  and,  willing  to  de- 
vote himself  to  the  cause  of  his  king,  he  complied, 
saying  as  he  did  so,  "  We  must  not  aspire  to  earthly 
rewards  ;  such  would  be  beneath  the  purity  of  our 
motives,  the  holiness  of  our  cause.  We  must  not 
even  aspire  to  glory,  for  a  civil  war  affords  none. 


320  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

We  shall  see  our  castles  fall,  we  shall  be  proscribed, 
slandered,  stripped  of  our  possessions,  perhaps  put 
to  death  ;  but  let  us  thank-God  for  giving  us  strength 
to  do  our  duty  to  the  end." 

The  next  person  on  whom  the  peasants  cast  their 
eyes  possessed  as  true  and  strong  a  heart  though 
he  was  too  young  to  count  the  cost  of  loyalty  with 
the  same  calm  spirit  of  self-devotion.  The  Marquis 
de  la  Rochejacquelein,  one  of  the  most  excellent  of 
the  nobles  of  Poitou.  had  already  emigrated  with  his 
wife  and  all  his  family,  excepting  Henri,  the  eldest 
son,  who,  though  but  eighteen  years  of  age,  had 
been  placed  in  the  dangerous  post  of  an  officer  in 
the  Royal  Guards.  When  Louis  XVI.  had  been 
obliged  to  dismiss  these  brave  men,  he  had  obtained 
a  promise  from  each  officer  that  he  would  not  leave 
France,  but  wait  for  some  chance  of  delivering  that 
unhappy  country.  Henri  had  therefore  remained  at 
Paris,  until  after  the  ioth  of  August,  1792.  when  the 
massacre  at  the  Tuileries  took  place,  and  the  impris- 
onment of  the  royal  family  commenced  ;  and  then 
every  gentleman  being  in  danger  in  the  city,  he  had 
come  to  his  father's  deserted  castle  of  Durballitre 
in  Poitou. 

He  was  nearly  twenty,  tall  and  slender,  with  fair 
hair,  an  oval  face,  and  blue  eyes,  very  gentle,  al- 
though full  of  animation.  He  was  active  and  dex- 
terous in  all  manly  sports,  especially  shooting  and 
riding  ;  he  was  a  man  of  few  words  ;  and  his  man- 
ners were  so  shy,  modest,  and  retiring,  that  his 
friends  used  to  say  he  was  more  like  an  English- 
man than  a  Frenchman. 

Hearing  that  he  was  alone  at  Durballiere,  and 
knowing  that  as  an  officer  in  the  Guards,  and  also 
as  being  of  the  age  liable  to  the  conscription,  he  was 
in  danger  from  the  Revolutionists  in  the  neighbor- 
ing towns,  his  cousin,  the  Marquis  de  Lescure,  sent 
to  invite  him  to  his  strong  castle  of  Clisson,  which 


The   Vendee7is.  321 

This  castle 

afforded  a  refuge  to  many  others  who  were  in  dan- 
ger, —  to  nuns  driven  from  their  convents,  dispos- 
sessed clergy,  and  persons  who  dreaded  to  remain 
at  their  homes,  but  who  felt  reassured  under  the 
shelter  of  the  castle,  and  by  the  character  of  its 
owner,  a  young  man  of  six-and-twenty,  who,  though 
of  high  and  unshaken  loyalty,  had  never  concerned 
himself  with  politics,  but  led  a  quiet  and  studious 
life,  and  was  everywhere  honored  and  respected. 

The  winter  passed  in  great  anxiety,  and  when  in 
the  spring  the  rising  at  Anjou  took  place,  and  the 
new  government  summoned  all  who  could  bear  arms 
to  assist  in  quelling  it,  a  council  was  held  among  the 
party  at  Clisson  on  the  steps  to  be  taken.  Henri, 
as  the  youngest,  spoke  first,  saying  he  would  rather 
perish  than  fight  against  the  peasants  ;  nor  among 
the  whole  assembly  was  there  one  person  willing  to 
take  the  safer  but  meaner  course  of  deserting  the 
cause  of  their  king  and  country.  "  Yes,"  said  the 
Duchess  de  Donnissan,  mother  to  the  young  wife  of 
the  Marquis  de  Lescure,  "  I  see  you  are  all  of  the 
same  opinion.  Better  death  than  dishonor.  I  ap- 
prove your  courage.  It  is  a  settled  thing  "  :  and  seat- 
ing herself  in  her  arm-chair,  she  concluded,  "  Well, 
then  we  must  die." 

For  some  little  time  all  remained  quiet  at  Clisson  ; 
but  at  length  the  order  for  the  conscription  arrived, 
and  a  few  days  before  the  time  appointed  for  the  lots 
to  be  drawn,  a  boy  came  to  the  castle  bringing  a 
note  to  Henri  from  his  aunt  at  St.  Aubin.  "  Mon- 
sieur Henri,"  said  the  boy,  "  they  say  you  are  to 
draw  for  the  conscription  next  Sunday  ;  but  may 
not  your  tenants  rise  against  it  in  the  mean  time  ? 
Come  with  me,  sir,  the  whole  country  is  longing  for 
you,  and  will  obey  you." 

Henri  instantly  promised  to  come,  but  some  of 
the  ladies  would  have  persuaded  him  not  to  endanger 


322  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

himself —  representing,  too,  that  if  he  was  missing 
on  the  appointed  day,  M.  de  Lescure  might  be  made 
responsible  for  him.  The  Marquis,  however,  silenced 
them,  saying  to  his  cousin,  "  You  are  prompted  by 
honor  and  duty  to  put  yourself  at  the  head  of  your 
tenants.  Follow  out  your  plan.  I  am  only  grieved 
at  not  being  able  to  go  with  you  ;  and  certainly  no 
fear  of  imprisonment  will  lead  me  to  dissuade  you 
from  doing  your  duty." 

"Well,  I  will  come  and  rescue  you,"  said  Henri, 
embracing  him,  and  his  eyes  glancing  with  a  noble 
soldier-like  expression  and  an  eagle  look. 

As  soon  as  the  servants  were  gone  to  bed,  he  set 
out  with  a  guide,  with  a  stick  in  his  hand  and  a  pair 
of  pistols  in  his  belt ;  and  travelling  through  the 
fields,  over  hedges  and  ditches,  for  fear  of  meeting 
with  the  Blues,  arrived  at  St.  Aubin,  and  from 
thence  went  on  to  meet  M.  de  Bonchamp  and  his  lit- 
tle army.  But  he  found  to  his  disappointment  that 
they  had  just  been  defeated,  and  the  chieftains,  be- 
lieving that  all  was  lost,  had  dispersed  their  troops. 
He  went  to  his  own  home,  dispirited  and  grieved  ; 
but  no  sooner  did  the  men  of  St.  Aubin  learn  the 
arrival  of  their  young  lord,  than  they  came  trooping 
to  the  castle,  entreating  him  to  place  himself  at 
their  head. 

In  the  early  morning,  the  castle  court,  the  fields, 
the  village,  were  thronged  with  stout  hardy  farmers 
and  laborers,  in  gray  coats,  with  broad  flapping 
hats,  and  red  woollen  handkerchiefs  round  their 
necks.  On  their  shoulders  were  spits,  scythes,  and 
even  sticks  ;  happy  was  the  man  who  could  bring 
an  old  fowling-piece,  and  still  more  rejoiced  the 
owner  of  some  powder,  intended  for  blasting  some 
neighboring  quarry.  All  had  bold  true  hearts,  ready 
to  suffer  and  to  die  in  the  cause  of  their  Church,  and 
of  their  young,  innocent,  imprisoned  king. 

A  mistrust  of  his  own  powers,  a  fear  of  ruining 


The   Vende'ens.  323 

these  brave  men,  crossed  the  mind  of  the  youth  as 
he  looked  forth  upon  them,  and  he  exclaimed,  "  If 
my  father  was  but  here,  you  might  trust  to  him. 
Yet  by  my  courage  I  will  show  myself  worthy,  and 
lead  you.  If  I  go  forward,  follow  me  ;  if  I  draw 
back,  kill  me  ;  if  I  am  slain,  avenge  me  !  "  They 
replied  by  shouts  of  joy,  and  it  was  instantly  re- 
solved to  march  upon  the  next  village,  which  was 
occupied  by  the  rebel  troops.  They  gained  a  com- 
plete victory,  driving  away  the  Blues,  and  taking 
two  small  pieces  of  cannon,  and  immediately  joined 
M.  de  Bonchamp  and  Cathelineau,  who,  encouraged 
by  their  success,  again  gathered  their  troops  and 
gained  some  further  advantages. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  authorities  had  sent  to 
Clisson  and  arrested  M.  de  Lescure,  his  wife,  her 
parents,  and  some  of  their  guests,  who  were  con- 
ducted to  Bressuire,  the  nearest  town,  and  there 
closely  guarded.  There  was  great  danger  that  the 
Republicans  would  revenge  their  losses  upon  them, 
but  the  calm,  dignified  deportment  of  M.  de  Les- 
cure obliged  them  to  respect  him  so  much  that  no 
injury  was  offered  to  him.  At  last  came  the  joyful 
news  that  the  Royalist  army  was  approaching.  The 
Republican  soldiers  immediately  quitted  the  town, 
and  the  inhabitants  all  came  to  ask  the  protection 
of  the  prisoners,  desiring  to  send  their  goods  to 
Clisson  for  security,  and  thinking  themselves  guard- 
ed by  the  presence  of  M.  and  Madame  de  Lescure. 

M.  de  Lescure  and  his  cousin  Bernard  de  Marig- 
ny  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  out  to  meet  their 
friends.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards,  Mad- 
ame de  Lescure  heard  the  shouts,  "  Long  live  the 
king"  ;  and  the  next  minute,  Henri  de  la  Rochejac- 
quelein  hurried  into  the  room,  crying,  "  I  have  saved 
you."  The  peasants  marched  in,  to  the  number  of 
20,000,  and  spread  themselves  through  the  town, 
but  in  their  victory  they  had  gained  no  taste  for 


324  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

blood  or  plunder,  —  they  did  not  hurt  a  single  inhab- 
itant, nor  touch  anything  that  was  not  their  own. 
Madame  de  Lescure  heard  some  of  them  wishing 
for  tobacco,  and  asked  if  there  was  none  in  the 
town.  "  O  yes,  there  is  plenty  to  be  sold,  but  we 
have  no  money  "  ;  and  they  were  very  thankful  to 
her  for  giving  the  small  sum  they  required.  Mon- 
sieur de  Donnissan  saw  two  men  disputing  in  the 
street,  and  one  drew  his  sword,  when  he  interfered, 
saying,  "  Our  Lord  prayed  for  His  murderers,  and 
would  one  soldier  of  the  Catholic  army  kill  an- 
other ?  "     The  two  instantly  embraced. 

Three  times  a  day  these  peasant  warriors  knelt 
at  their  prayers,  in  the  churches  if  they  were  near 
them,  if  not,  in  the  open  field,  and  seldom  have 
ever  been  equalled  the  piety,  the  humility,  the 
self-devotion  alike  of  chiefs  and  of  followers.  The 
frightful  cruelties  committed  by  the  enemy  were 
returned  by  mercy  ;  though  such  of  them  as  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  Republicans  were  shot  with- 
out pity,  yet  their  prisoners  were  instantly  set  at 
liberty  after  being  made  to  promise  not  to  serve 
against  them  again,  and  having  their  hair  shaved 
off  in  order  that  they  might  be  recognized. 

Whenever  an  enterprise  was  resolved  on,  the 
curates  gave  notice  to  their  parishioners  that  the 
leaders  would  be  at  such  a  place  at  such  a  time  ; 
upon  which  they  crowded  to  the  spot,  and  assem- 
bled around  the  white  standard  of  France  with 
such  weapons  as  they  could  muster. 

The  clergy  then  heard  them  confess  their  sins, 
gave  them  absolution,  and  blessed  them ;  then, 
while  they  set  forward,  returned  to  the  churches 
where  their  wives  and  children  were  praying  for 
their  success.  They  did  not  fight  like  regular 
soldiers,  but,  creeping  through  the  hedge-rows  and 
coppices,  burst  unexpectedly  upon  the  Blues,  who, 
entangled   in    the   hollow    lanes,   ignorant  of   the 


The  Vendeens.  325 

country,  and  amazed  by  the  suddenness  of  the  at- 
tack, had  little  power  to  resist.  The  chieftains  were 
always  foremost  in  danger ;  above  all  the  eager 
young  Henri,  with  his  eye  on  the  white  standard, 
and  on  the  blue  sky,  and  his  hand  making  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  without  which  he  never  charged  the 
enemy,  dashed  on  first,  fearless  of  peril,  regardless 
of  his  life,  thinking  only  of  his  duty  to  his  king  and 
the  protection  of  his  followers. 

It  was  calmness  and  resignation  which  chiefly 
distinguished  M.  de  Lescure,  the  Saint  of  Poitou, 
as  the  peasants  called  him  from  his  great  piety,  his 
even  temper,  and  the  kindness  and  the  wonderful 
mercifulness  of  his  disposition.  Though  constantly 
at  the  head  of  his  troops,  leading  them  into  the 
most  dangerous  places  and  never  sparing  himself, 
not  one  man  was  slain  by  his  hand,  nor  did  he 
even  permit  a  prisoner  to  receive  the  least  injury 
in  his  presence.  When  one  of  the  Republicans 
once  presented  his  musket  close  to  his  breast,  he 
quietly  put  it  aside  with  his  hand,  and  only  said, 
"  Take  away  the  prisoner."  His  calmness  was  in- 
deed well  founded,  and  his  trust  never  failed.  Once 
when  the  little  army  had  received  a  considerable 
check,  and  his  cousin,  M.  de  Marigny  was  in  de- 
spair, and  throwing  his  pistols  on  the  table,  ex- 
claimed, "  I  fight  no  longer,"  he  took  him  by  the 
arm,  led  him  to  the  window,  and  pointing  to  a  troop 
of  peasants  kneeling  at  their  evening  prayers,  he 
said,  "  See  there  a  pledge  of  our  hopes,  and  doubt 
no  longer  that  we  shall  conquer  in  our  turn." 

Their  greatest  victory  was  at  Saumur,  owing 
chiefly  to  the  gallantry  of  Henri,  who  threw  his  hat 
into  the  midst  of  the  enemy,  shouting  to  his  fol- 
lowers, "  Who  will  go  and  fetch  it  for  me  ? "  and 
rushing  forward,  drove  all  before  him,  and  made 
his  way  into  the  town  on  one  side,  while  M.  de 
Lescure,  together  with  Stofflet,  a  gamekeeper,  an- 


326  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

other  of  the  chiefs,  made  their  entrance  on  the 
other  side.  M.  de  Lescure  was  wounded  in  the 
arm,  and  on  the  sight  of  his  blood  the  peasants 
gave  back,  and  would  have  fled,  had  not  Stofflet 
threatened  to  shoot  the  first  who  turned  ;  and  in 
the  mean  time  M.  de  Lescure,  tying  up  his  arm  with 
a  handkerchief,  declared  it  was  nothing,  and  led 
them  onwards. 

The  city  was  entirely  in  their  hands,  and  their 
thankful  delight  was  excessive  ;  but  they  only  dis- 
played it  by  ringing  the  bells,  singing  the  Te  Deum, 
and  parading  the  streets.  Henri  was  almost  out  of 
his  senses  with  exultation  ;  but  at  last  he  fell  into  a 
reverie,  as  he  stood,  with  his  arms  folded,  gazing  on 
the  mighty  citadel  which  had  yielded  to  efforts  such 
as  theirs.  His  friends  roused  him  from  his  dream 
by  their  remarks,  and  he  replied,  "  I  am  reflecting 
on  our  success,  and  am  confounded." 

They  now  resolved  to  elect  a  general-in-chief,  and 
M.  de  Lescure  was  the  first  to  propose  Cathelineau, 
the  pedler,  who  had  first  come  forward  in  the  cause. 
It  was  a  wondrous  thing  when  the  nobles,  the  gen- 
try, and  experienced  officers  who  had  served  in  the 
regular  army,  all  willingly  placed  themselves  under 
the  command  of  the  simple  untrained  peasant,  with- 
out a  thought  of  selfishness  or  of  jealousy.  Nor  did 
Cathelineau  himself  show  any  trace  of  pride,  or  lose 
his  complete  humility  of  mind  or  manner  ;  but  by 
each  word  and  deed  he  fully  proved  how  wise  had 
been  their  judgment,  and  well  earned  the  title  given 
him  by  the  peasants  of  the  "  Saint  of  Anjou." 

It  was  now  that  their  hopes  were  highest;  they 
were  more  numerous  and  better  armed  than  they  had 
ever  been  before,  and  they  even  talked  of  a  march 
to  Paris  to  "fetch  their  little  king,  and  have  him 
crowned  at  Chollet,"  the  chief  town  of  La  Vendee. 
But  martyrdom,  the  highest  glory  to  be  obtained  on 
this  earth,  was  already  shedding  its  brightness  round 


The  Vendeens.  327 

those  devoted  men  who  were  counted  worthy  to  suf- 
fer, and  it  was  in  a  higher  and  a  purer  world  that 
they  were  to  meet  their  royal  child. 

Cathelineau  turned  towards  Nantes,  leaving  Henri 
de  la  Rochejaquelein,  to  his  great  vexation,  to  defend 
Saumur  with  a  party  of  peasants.  But  he  found  it. 
impossible  to  prevent  these  poor  men  from  return- 
ing to  their  homes  ;  they  did  not  understand  the 
importance  of  garrison  duty,  and  gradually  departed, 
leaving  their  commander  alone  with  a  few  officers, 
with  whom  he  used  to  go  through  the  town  at  night, 
shouting  out,  "  Long  live  the  king  !  "  at  the  places 
where  there  ought  to  have  been  sentinels.  At  last, 
when  his  followers  were  reduced  to  eight,  he  left  the 
town,  and,  rejoicing  to  be  once  more  in  the  open 
field,  overtook  his  friends  at  Angers,  where  they 
had  just  rescued  a  great  number  of  clergy  who  had 
been  imprisoned  there,  and  daily  threatened  with 
death.  "  Do  not  thank  us,"  said  the  peasants  to 
the  liberated  priests  ;  "  it  is  for  you  that  we  fight. 
If  we  had  not  saved  you,  we  should  not  have  ven- 
tured to  return  home.  Since  you  are  freed,  we  see 
plainly  that  the  good  God  is  on  our  side." 

But  the  tide  was  now  about  to  turn.  The  govern- 
ment in  Paris  sent  a  far  stronger  force  into  the  Bo- 
cage,  and  desolated  it  in  a  cruel  manner.  Clisson 
was  burnt  to  the  ground  with  the  very  fireworks 
which  had  been  prepared  for  the  christening  of  its 
master's  eldest  child,  and  which  had  not  been  used 
because  of  the  sorrowful  days  when  she  was  born. 
M.  de  Lescure  had  long  expected  its  destruction, 
but  had  not  chosen  to  remove  the  furniture,  lest  he 
should  discourage  the  peasants.  His  family  were 
with  the  army,  where  alone  there  was  now  any  safety 
for  the  weak  and  helpless.  At  Nantes  the  attack 
was  unsuccessful,  and  Cathelineau  himself  received 
a  wound  of  which  he  died  in  a  few  days,  rejoicing  at 
having  been  permitted  to  shed  his  blood  in  such  a 
cause. 


328  *  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

The  army,  of  which  M.  d'Elbee  became  the  leader, 
now  returned  to  Poitou,  and  gained  a  great  victory 
at  Chatillon  ;  but  here  many  of  them  forgot  the 
mercy  they  had  usually  shown,  and,  enraged  by 
the  sight  of  their  burnt  cottages,  wasted  fields,  and 
murdered  relatives,  they  fell  upon  the  prisoners  and 
began  to  slaughter  them.  M.  de  Lescure,  coming 
in  haste,  called  out  to  them  to  desist.  "No,  no," 
cried  M.  de  Marigny  ;  "  let  me  slay  these  monsters 
who  have  burnt  your  castle."  "  Then,  Marigny," 
said  his  cousin,  "  you  must  fight  with  me.  You  are 
too  cruel  ;  you  will  perish  by  the  sword."  And  he 
saved  these  unhappy  men  for  the  time  ;  but  they 
were  put  to  death  on  their  way  to  their  own  army. 

The  cruelties  of  the  Republicans  occasioned  a 
proclamation  on  the  part  of  the  Royalists  that  they 
would  make  reprisals  ;  but  they  could  never  bring 
themselves  to  act  upon  it.  When  M.  de  Lescure 
took  Parthenay,  he  said  to  the  inhabitants,  "  It  is 
well  for  you  that  it  is  I  who  have  taken  your  town  ; 
for,  according  to  our  proclamation,  I  ought  to  burn 
it  ;  but,  as  you  would  think  it  an  act  of  private  re- 
venge for  the  burning  of  Clisson,  I  spare  you." 

Though  occasional  successes  still  maintained  the 
hopes  of  the  Vendeens,  misfortunes  and  defeats  now 
became  frequent ;  they  were  unable  to  save  their 
country  from  the  devastations  of  the  enemy,  and 
disappointments  began  to  thin  the  numbers  of  the 
soldiers.  Henri,  while  fighting  in  a  hollow  road, 
was  struck  in  the  right  hand  by  a  ball,  which  broke 
his  thumb  in  three  places.  He  continued  to  direct 
his  men,  but  they  were  at  length  driven  back  from 
their  post.  He  was  obliged  to  leave  the  army  for 
some  days  ;  and  though  he  soon  appeared  again  at 
the  head  of  the  men  of  St.  Aubin,  he  never  recov- 
ered the  use  of  his  hand. 

Shortly  after,  both  d'Elbee  and  Bonchamp  were 
desperately  wounded ;  and    M.  de    Lescure,  while 


The  Vendeens.  329 

waving  his  followers  on  to  attack  a  Republican  post, 
received  a  ball  in  the  head.  The  enemy  pressed  on 
the  broken  and  defeated  army  with  overwhelming 
force,  and  the  few  remaining  chiefs  resolved  to  cross 
the  Loire  and  take  refuge  in  Brittany.  It  was  much 
against  the  opinion  of  M.  de  Lescure  ;  but,  in  his 
feeble  and  suffering  state,  he  could  not  make  him- 
self heard,  nor  could  Henri's  representations  pre- 
vail ;  the  peasants,  in  terror  and  dismay,  were  hast- 
ening across  as  fast  as  they  could  obtain  boats  to 
carry  them.  The  enemy  was  near  at  hand,  and 
Stofflet,  Marigny,  and  the  other  chiefs  were  only 
deliberating  whether  they  should  not  kill  the  prison- 
ers whom  they  could  not  take  with  them,  and,  if  set 
at  liberty,  would  only  add  to  the  numbers  of  their 
pursuers.  The  order  for  their  death  had  been  given  ; 
but,  before  it  could  be  executed,  M.  de  Lescure  had 
raised  his  head  to  exclaim,  "  It  is  too  horrible  !  " 
and  M.  de  Bonchamp  at  the  same  moment  said,  al- 
most with  his  last  breath,  "  Spare  them  ! "  The 
officers  who  stood  by  rushed  to  the  generals,  crying 
out  that  Bonchamp  commanded  that  they  should  be 
pardoned.  They  were  set  at  liberty ;  and  thus  the 
two  Vendeen  chiefs  avenged  their  deaths  by  saving 
five  thousand  of  their  enemies  ! 

M.  de  Bonchamp  expired  immediately  after  ;  but 
M.  de  Lescure.  had  still  much  to  suffer  in  the  long 
and  painful  passage  across  the  river,  and  afterwards, 
while  carried  along  the  rough  roads  to  Varades  in 
an  arm-chair  upon  two  pikes,  his  wife  and  her  maid 
supporting  his  feet.  The  Bretons  received  them 
kindly,  and  gave  him  a  small  room,  where,  the  next 
day,  he  sent  for  the  rest  of  the  council,  telling  them 
they  ought  to  choose  a  new  general,  since  M.  d'El- 
bee  was  missing.  They  answered  that  he  himself 
alone  could  be  commander.  "  Gentlemen,"  he  an- 
swered, "  I  am  mortally  wounded  ;  and  even  if  I  am 
to  live,  which  I  do  not  expect,  I  shall  be  long  unfit 


330  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

to  serve.  The  army  must  instantly  have  an  active 
chief,  loved  by  all,  known  to  the  peasants,  trusted  by 
every  one.  It  is  the  only  way  of  saving  us.  M.  de 
la  Rochejaquelein  alone  is  known  to  the  soldiers  of 
all  the  divisions.  M.  de  Donnissan,  my  father-in- 
law,  does  not  belong  to  this  part  of  the  country,  and 
would  not  be  as  readily  followed.  The  choice  I 
propose  would  encourage  the  soldiers,  and  I  entreat 
you  to  choose  M.  de  la  Rochejaquelein.  As  to  me, 
if  I  live,  you  know  I  shall  not  quarrel  with  Henri ;  I 
shall  be  his  aide-de-camp." 

His  advice  was  readily  followed,  Henri  was 
chosen  ;  but  when  a  second  in  command  was  to 
be  elected,  he  said  no,  he  was  second,  for  he  should 
always  obey  M.  de  Donnissan,  and  entreated  that 
the  honor  might  not  be  given  to  him,  saying  that 
at  twenty  years  of  age  he  had  neither  weight  nor 
experience,  that  his  valor  led  him  to  be  first  in  bat- 
tle, but  in  council  his  youth  prevented  him  from 
being  attended  to ;  and,  indeed,  after  giving  his 
opinion,  he  usually  fell  asleep  while  others  were 
debating.  He  was,  however,  elected  ;  and  as  soon 
as  M.  de  Lescure  heard  the  shouts  of  joy  with  which 
the  peasants  received  the  intelligence,  he  sent  Mad- 
ame de  Lescure  to  bring  him  to  his  bedside.  She 
found  him  hidden  in  a  corner,  weeping  bitterly  ;  and 
Avhen  he  came  to  his  cousin,  he  embraced  him,  say- 
ing earnestly,  again  and  again,  that  he  was  not  fit  to 
be  general,  he  only  knew  how  to  fight,  he  was  toe 
young  and  could  never  silence  those  who  opposed 
his  designs,  and  entreated  him  to  take  the  command 
as  soon  as  he  was  cured.  "That  I  do  not  expect," 
said  M.  de  Lescure;  "but  if  it  should  happen,  I 
will  be  your  aide-de-camp,  and  help  you  to  conquer 
the  shyness  which  prevents  your  strength  of  char- 
acter from  silencing  the  murmurers  and  the  ambi- 
tious. 

Henri  accordingly  took  the  command  ;  but  it  was 


The  Vendiens.  331 

a  melancholy  office  that  devolved  upon  him  of 
dragging  onward  his  broken  and  dejected  peasants, 
half  starved,  half  clothed,  and  followed  by  a  wretched 
train  of  women,  children,  and  wounded  ;  a  sad 
change  from  the  bright  hopes  with  which,  not  six 
months  before,  he  had  been  called  to  the  head  of 
his  tenants.  Yet  still  his  high  courage  gained  some 
triumphs,  which  for  a  time  revived  the  spirits  of 
his  forces  and  restored  their  confidence.  He  was 
active  and  undaunted,  and  it  was  about  this  time, 
when  in  pursuit  of  the  Blues,  he  was  attacked  by  a 
foot-soldier  when  alone  in  a  narrow  lane.  His 
right  hand  was  useless,  but  he  seized  the  man's  col- 
lar with  his  left,  and  held  him  fast,  managing  his 
horse  with  his  legs  till  his  men  came  up.  He  would 
not  allow  them  to  kill  the  soldier,  but  set  him  free, 
saying,  "  Return  to  the  Republicans,  and  tell  them 
that  you  were  alone  with  the  general  of  the  brig- 
ands, who  had  but  one  hand  and  no  weapons,  yet 
you  could  not  kill  him."  Brigands  was  the  name 
given  by  the  Republicans  (the  true  robbers)  to  the 
Royalists,  who,  in  fact,  by  this  time,  owing  to  the 
wild  life  they  had  so  long  led,  had  acquired  a  some- 
what rude  and  savage  appearance.  They  wore  gray 
cloth  coats  and  trousers,  broad  hats,  white  sashes 
with  knots  of  different  colors  to  mark  the  rank  of  the 
officers,  and  red  woollen  handkerchiefs.  These  were 
made  in  the  country,  and  were  at  first  chiefly  worn 
by  Henri,  who  usually  had  one  round  his  neck,  an- 
other round  his  waist,  and  a  third  to  support  his 
wounded  hand  ;  but  the  other  officers  having  heard 
the  Blues  cry  out  to  aim  at  the  red  handkerchief, 
themselves  adopted  the  same  badge,  in  order  that 
he  might  be  less  conspicuous. 

In  the  mean  time  a  few  days'  rest  at  Laval  had  at 
first  so  alleviated  the  sufferings  of  M.  de  Lescure, 
that  hopes  were  entertained  of  his  recovery  ;  but 
he  ventured  on  greater  exertions  of  strength  than 


332  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

he  was  able  to  bear,  and  fever  returned,  which  had 
weakened  him  greatly  before  it  became  necessary 
to  travel  onwards.  Early  in  the  morning,  a  day  or 
two  before  their  departure,  he  called  to  his  wife, 
who  was  lying  on  a  mattress  on  the  floor,  and  de- 
sired her  to  open  the  curtains,  asking,  as  she  did  so, 
if  it  was  a  clear  day.  "  Yes,"  said  she.  "  Then," 
he  answered,  "  I  have  a  sort  of  veil  before  my  eyes, 
I  cannot  see  distinctly  ;  I  always  thought  my  wound 
was  mortal,  and  now  I  no  longer  doubt.  My  dear, 
I  must  leave  you,  —  that  is  my  only  regret,  except 
that  I  could  not  restore  my  king  to  the  throne  ;  I 
leave  you  in  the  midst  of  a  civil  war,  that  is  what 
afflicts  me.  Try  to  save  yourself.  Disguise  your- 
self and  attempt  to  reach  England."  Then  seeing 
her  choked  with  tears,  he  continued:  "  Yes,  your 
grief  alone  makes  me  regret  life  ;  for  my  own  part, 
I  die  tranquil ;  I  have  indeed  sinned,  but  I  have 
always  served  God  with  piety ;  I  have  fought,  and 
I  die  for  Him,  and  I  hope  in  His  mercy.  I  have 
often  seen  death,  and  I  do  not  fear  it.  I  go  to 
heaven  with  a  sure  trust,  I  grieve  but  for  you ;  I 
hoped  to  have  made  you  happy;  if  I  ever  have 
given  you  any  reason  to  complain,  forgive  me." 
Finding  her  grief  beyond  all  consolation,  he  al- 
lowed her  to  call  the  surgeons,  saying  that  it  was 
possible  he  might  be  mistaken.  They  gave  some 
hope,  which  cheered  her  spirits,  though  he  still  said 
he  did  not  believe  them.  The  next  day  they  left 
Laval,  and  on  the  way,  while  the  carriage  was 
stopping,  a  person  came  to  the  door  and  read  the 
details  of  the  execution  of  Marie  Antoinette,  which 
Madame  de  Lescure  had  kept  from  his  knowledge. 
It  was  a  great  shock  to  him,  for  he  had  known  the 
queen  personally,  and  throughout  the  day  he 
wearied  himself  with  exclamations  on  the  horrible 
crime.  That  night,  at  Erne'e,  he  received  the  Sac- 
rament, and  at  the  same  time  became  speechless, 


The  Vendeens.  333 

and  could  only  lie  holding  his  wife's  hand,  and  look- 
ing sometimes  at  her,  sometimes  toward  heaven. 
But  the  cruel  enemy  were  close  behind,  and  there 
was  no  rest  on  earth  even  for  the  dying.  Madame  de 
Lescure  implored  her  friends  to  leave  them  behind  ; 
but  they  told  her  she  would  be  exposed  to  a  fright- 
ful death,  and  that  his  body  would  fall  into  the 
enemy's  hands  ;  and  she  was  forced  to  consent  to 
his  removal.  Her  mother  and  her  other  friends 
would  not  permit  her  to  remain  in  the  carriage  with 
him  ;  she  was  placed  on  horseback,  and  her  maid 
and  the  "surgeon  were  with  him.  An  hour  after,  on 
the  3d  of  November,  he  died,  but  his  wife  did  not 
know  her  loss  till  the  evening  when  they  arrived  at 
Fougeres  ;  for  though  the  surgeon  left  the  carriage 
on  his  death,  the  maid,  fearing  the  effect  which  the 
knowledge  might  have  upon  her  in  the  midst  of  her 
journey,  remained  for  seven  hours  in  the  carriage 
by  his  side,  during  two  of  which  she  was  in  a  faint- 
ing fit. 

When  Madame  de  Lescure  and  Henri  de  la 
Rochejaquelein  met  the  next  morning,  they  sat  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  without  speaking,  and  weeping 
bitterly.  At  last  she  said,  "  You  have  lost  your  best 
friend,"  and  he  replied,  "  Take  my  life,  if  it  could 
restore  him." 

Scarcely  anything  can  be  imagined  more  misera- 
ble than  the  condition  of  the  army,  or  more  terrible 
than  the  situation  of  the  young  general,  who  felt 
himself  responsible  for  its  safety,  and  was  compelled 
daily  to  see  its  sufferings  and  find  his  plans  thwarted 
by  the  obstinacy  and  folly  of  the  other  officers, 
crushed  by  an  overwhelming  force,  knowing  that 
there  was  no  quarter  from  which  help  could  come, 
yet  still  struggling  on  in  fulfilment  of  his  sad  duty. 
The  hopes  and  expectations  which  had  filled  his 
heart  a  few  months  back  had  long  passed  away  : 
nothing  was  around  him  but  misery,  nothing  before 


334  "4  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

him  but  desolation  ;  but  still  he  never  failed  in 
courage,  in  mildness,  in  confidence  in  Heaven. 

At  Mans  he  met  with  a  horrible  defeat ;  at  first, 
indeed,  with  a  small  party  he  broke  the  columns  of 
the  enemy,  but  fresh  men  were  constantly  brought 
up,  and  his  peasants  gave  way  and  retreated,  their 
officers  following  them.  He  tried  to  lead  them  back 
through  the  hedges,  and  if  he  had  succeeded,  would 
surely  have  gained  the  victory.  Three  times  with 
two  other  officers  he  dashed  into  the  midst  of  the 
Blues  ;  but  the  broken,  dispirited  peasants  would 
not  follow  him,  not  one  would  even  turn  to  fire  a 
shot.  At  last,  in  leaping  a  hedge,  his  saddle  turned, 
and  he  fell,  without  indeed  being  hurt,  but  the  sight 
of  his  fall  added  to  the  terror  of  the  miserable  Ven- 
deens.  He  struggled  long  and  desperately  through 
the  long  night  that  followed  to  defend  the  gates  of 
the  town,  but  with  the  light  of  morning  the  enemy 
perceived  his  weakness  and  effected  their  entrance. 
His  followers  had  in  the  mean  time  gradually  retired 
into  the  country  beyond,  but  those  who  could  not 
escape  fell  a  prey  to  the  cruelty  of  the  Republicans. 
"  I  thought  you  had  perished,"  said  Madame  de 
Lescure,  when  he  overtook  her.  "Would  that  I 
had,"  was  his  answer. 

He  now  resolved  to  recross  the  Loire,  and  return 
to  his  native  Bocage,  where  the  well-known  woods 
would  afford  better  protection  to  his  followers.  It 
was  at  Craon,  on  their  route  to  the  river,  that  Mad- 
ame de  Lescure  saw  him  for  the  last  time,  as  he  ral- 
lied his  men,  who  had  been  terrified  by  a  false  alarm. 

She  did  not  return  to  La  Vendee,  but,  with  her 
mother,  was  sheltered  by  the  peasants  of  Brittany 
throughout  the  winter  and  spring  until  they  found 
means  to  leave  the  country. 

The  Vendeens  reached  the  Loire  at  Ancenis,  but 
they  were  only  able  to  find  two  small  boats  to  carry 
them  over.     On  the  other  side,  however  were  four 


The   Vendee ns.  335 

great  ferry-boats  loaded  with  hay  ;  and  Henri,  with 
Stofflet,  three  other  officers,  and  eighteen  soldiers 
crossed  the  river  in  their  two  boats,  intending  to 
take  possession  of  them,  send  them  back  for  the  rest 
of  the  army,  and  in  the  mean  time  protect  the  pas- 
sage from  the  Blues  on  the  Vendeen  side.  Unfortu- 
nately, however,  he  had  scarcely  crossed  before  the 
pursuers  came  down  upon  his  troops,  drove  them 
back  from  Ancenis,  and  entirely  prevented  them 
from  attempting  the  passage,  while  at  the  same  time 
Henri  and  his  companions  were  attacked  and  forced 
from  the  river  by  a  body  of  Republicans  on  their 
side.  A  last  resistance  was  attempted  by  the  re- 
treating Vendeens  at  Savenay,  where  they  fought 
nobly  but  in  vain  ;  four  thousand  were  shot  on  the 
field  of  battle,  the  chiefs  were  made  prisoners  and 
carried  to  Nantes  or  Angers,  where  they  were  guillo- 
tined, and  a  few  who  succeeded  in  escaping  found 
shelter  among  the  Bretons,  or  one  by  one  found 
their  way  back  to  La  Vendee.  M.  de  Donnissan 
was  amongst  those  who  were  guillotined,  and  M.  d'- 
Elbee,  who  was  seized  shortly  after,  was  shot  with 
his  wife. 

Henri,  with  his  few  companions,  when  driven  from 
the  banks  of  the  Loire,  dismissed  the  eighteen  sol- 
diers, whose  number  would  only  have  attracted 
attention  without  being  sufficient  for  protection  ; 
but  the  five  chiefs  crossed  the  fields  and  wandered 
through  the  country  without  meeting  a  single  inhab- 
itant,—  all  the  houses  were  burnt  down,  and  the 
few  remaining  peasants  hidden  in  the  woods.  At 
last,  after  four-and-twenty  hours'  walking,  they 
came  to  an  inhabited  farm,  where  they  laid 
down  to  sleep  on  the  straw.  The  next  moment 
the  farmer  came  to  tell  them  the  Blues  were  com- 
ing ;  but  they  were  so  worn  out  with  fatigue,  that 
they  would  not  move.  The  Blues  were  happily, 
also,  very  tired,  and,  without  making  search,  laid 


336  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

down  on  the  other  side  of  the  heap  of  straw,  and 
also  fell  asleep.  Before  daylight  the  Vendeens  rose 
and  set  out  again,  walking  miles  and  miles  in  the 
midst  of  desolation,  until,  after  several  days,  they 
came  to  Henri's  own  village  of  St.  Aubin,  where  he 
sought  out  his  aunt,  who  was  in  concealment  there, 
and  remained  with  her  for  three  clays,  utterly  over- 
whelmed with  grief  at  his  fatal  separation  from  his 
army,  and  only  longing  for  an  opportunity  of  giving 
his  life  in  the  good  cause. 

Beyond  all  his  hopes,  the  peasants  no  sooner 
heard  his  name  than  once  more  they  rallied  round 
the  white  standard,  as  determined  as  ever  not  to 
yield  to  the  Revolutionary  government ;  and  the  be- 
ginning of  the  year  1794  found  him  once  more  at  the 
head  of  a  considerable  force,  encamped  in  the  forest 
of  Vesins,  guarding  the  villages  around  from  the 
cruelties  of  the  Blues.  He  was  now  doubly  beloved 
and  trusted  by  the  followers  who  had  proved  his 
worth,  and  who  even  yet  looked  forward  to  triumphs 
beneath  his  brave  guidance  ;  but  it  was  not  so  with 
him,  he  had  learnt  the  lesson  of  disappointment, 
and  though  always  active  and  cheerful,  his  mind  was 
made  up,  and  the  only  hope  he  cherished  was  of 
meeting  the  death  of  a  soldier.  His  head-quarters 
were  in  the  midst  of  a  forest,  where  one  of  the 
Republican  officers,  who  was  made  prisoner,  was 
much  surprised  to  find  the  much-dreaded  chieftain 
of  the  Royalists  living  in  a  hut  formed  of  boughs  of 
trees,  dressed  almost  like  a  peasant,  and  with  his 
arm  still  in  a  sling.  This  person  was  shot,  because 
he  was  found  to  be  commissioned  to  promise  pardon 
to  the  peasants,  and  afterwards  to  massacre  them  ; 
but  Henri  had  not  learnt  cruelty  from  his  per- 
secutors, and  his  last  words  were  of  forgiveness. 

It  was  on  Ash  Wednesday  that  he  had  repulsed 
an  attack  of  the  enemy,  and  had  almost  driven  them 
out  of  the  wood,  when,  perceiving  two  soldiers  hid- 


The  Vendee?is.  337 

ing  behind  a  hedge,  he  stopped,  crying  out,  "  Sur- 
render, I  spare  you."  As  he  spoke  one  of  them 
levelled  his  musket,  fired,  and  stretched  him  dead 
on  the  ground  without  a  groan.  Stofflet  coming  up 
the  next  moment,  killed  the  murderer  with  one  stroke 
of  his  sword  ;  but  the  remaining  soldier  was  spared 
out  of  regard  to  the  last  words  of  the  general.  The 
Vendeens  wept  bitterly,  but  there  was  no  time  to 
indulge  their  sorrow,  for  the  enemy  were  returning 
upon  them  ;  and,  to  save  their  chieftain's  corpse  from 
insult,  they  hastily  dug  a  grave,  in  which  they  placed 
both  bodies,  and  retreated  as  the  Blues  came  up  to 
occupy  the  ground.  The  Republicans  sought  for 
the  spot,  but  it  was  preserved  from  their  knowl- 
edge ;  and  the  high-spirited,  pure-hearted  Henri  de 
la  Rochejaquelein  sleeps  beside  his  enemy  in  the 
midst  of  the  woodlands  where  he  won  for  himself 
eternal  honor.  His  name  is  still  loved  beyond  all 
others  ;  the  Vendeens  seldom  pronounce  it  without 
touching  their  hats,  and  it  is  the  highest  glory  of 
many  a  family  that  one  of  their  number  has  served 
under  Monsieur  Henri. 

Stofflet  succeeded  to  the  command,  and  carried 
on  the  war  with  great  skill  and  courage  for  another 
year,  though  with  barbarities  such  as  had  never 
been  permitted  by  the  gentlemen  ;  but  his  career  was 
stained  by  the  death  of  Marigny,  whom,  by  false 
accusations,  he  was  induced  to  sentence  to  be  shot. 
Marigny  showed  great  courage  and  resignation,  him- 
self giving  the  word  to  fire,  —  perhaps  at  that  mo- 
ment remembering  the  warning  of  M.  de  Lescure. 
Stofflet  repented  bitterly,  and  never  ceased  to  lament 
his  death.  He  was  at  length  made  prisoner,  and 
shot,  with  his  last  words  declaring  his  devotion  to 
his  king  and  his  faith. 

Thus  ends  the  tale  of  the  Vendeen  war,  under- 
taken in  the  best  of  causes,  for  the  honor  of  God 
and  his  Church,  and  the  rescue  of  one  of  the  most 


338  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

innocent  of  kings,  by  men  whose  saintly  characters 
and  dauntless  courage  have  seldom  been  surpassed 
by  martyrs  or  heroes  of  any  age.  It  closed  with 
blood,  with  fire,  with  miseries  almost  unequalled  ; 
yet  who  would  dare  to  say  that  the  lives  of  Catheli- 
neau,  Bonchamp,  Lescure,  La  Rochejaquelein,  with 
their  hundreds  of  brave  and  pious  followers,  were 
devoted  in  vain  ?  Who  could  wish  to  see  their 
brightness  dimmed  with  earthly  rewards  ? 

And  though  the  powers  of  evil  were  permitted  to 
prevail  on  earth,  yet  what  could  their  utmost  triumph 
effect  against  the  faithful,  but  to  make  for  them,  in 
the  words  of  the  child  king  for  whom  they  fought, 
one  of  those  thorny  paths  that  lead  to  glory  ! 


THE  FAITHFUL  SLAVES  OF  HAITI. 

1793- 

MOURNFUL  as  are  in  general  the  annals  of 
slavery,  yet  even  this  cloud  is  not  without  its 
silver  lining  ;  and  noble  deeds  of  fidelity  and  self- 
devotion  are  on  record  even  from  those  whom  their 
masters  have  been  accustomed  to  look  on  as  so  de- 
graded as  to  be  incapable  of  more  than  an  animal 
species  of  loyalty. 

The  French  are  not  in  general  bad  slave-masters. 
Excitement  does  indeed  stir  their  Keltic  blood  in- 
to a  state  in  which  they  will  perpetrate  horrible  fe- 
rocities ;  but  in  ordinary  life  their  instinct  of  cour- 
tesy and  amiability  makes  them  perhaps  the  least 
obnoxious  of  all  nations  to  those  whom  they  beleive 
their  inferiors,  whether  in  the  bondage  of  conquest 
or  of  slavery. 

No  doubt,  however,  there  was  a  fearful  arrear  ot 
wrongs  in  the  beautiful  West  Indian  island  of  His- 
paniola,  or  St.  Domingo,  as  it  was  called  when  it 
was  shared  between  France  and  Spain,  with  the 
boundary  between  them  of  a  river,  now  known  by 
the  portentous  name  of  Massacre.  One  of  the  most 
fertile  of  all  the  lovely  isles  whose  aspect  had  en- 
chanted their  discoverer,  St.  Domingo,  was  a  region 
of  rapid  wealth  to  the  French  Creoles,  who  lived  at 
ease,  and  full  of  luxury  and  enjoyment,  on  their  rich 
plantations  of  sugar,  cotton,  and  coffee,  and,  often 


340  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

men  of  high  birth,  further  formed,  in  right  of  their 
white  skins,  a  jealous  aristocracy,  holding  the_r 
heads  high  above  the  dark  population  below  them, 
alike  of  free  mulattoes  of  mixed  descent  and  of  ne- 
gro slaves.  Little  were  they  prepared  for  the  de- 
cree of  the  French  National  Convention,  which  at 
one  sweep  levelled  all  distinctions, — placing  the 
black  and  brown  of  every  tint  on  an  equality  with 
the  whites.  The  consequence  was  that  the  tri-col- 
ored  cockade  was  trampled  on  by  the  indignant 
Creoles,  who  refused  obedience  to  the  decree  of  the 
mother  country,  and  proceeded  to  elect  a  General 
Assembly  of  their  own  ;  while  the  aggrieved  mulat- 
toes collected  on  their  side  in  armed  bodies  for  the 
defence  of  their  newly-granted  privileges. 

In  the  midst  a  more  terrible  enemy  arose.  The 
slaves,  with  the  notes  of  freedom  ringing  in  their 
ears,  rose  in  a  body,  and  began  to  burn  the  planta- 
tions and  to  massacre  the  whites.  Fugitives  came 
rushing  into  Capetown,  the  capital,  from  all  quar- 
ters ;  and  at  each  plantation  reached  by  the  in- 
surgents, the  slaves,  even  if  previously  contented, 
were  gathered  into  the  flood  of  savagery,  and  joined 
in  the  war  of  extermination.  In  less  than  two 
months.  2.000  white  persons,  of  all  ranks,  sexes,  and 
ages,  had  perished.  480  sugar  plantations,  and  900 
coffee,  indigo,  and  cotton  settlements  had  been  de- 
stroved.  With  the  horrors  and  the  bloodshed  of 
those  days,  however,  we  are  not  concerned,  nor 
need  we  trace  the  frightful  and  protracted  war  that 
finally  established  negro  supremacy  over  the  island 
that  now  bears  the  name  of  Haiti.  It  is  with  the 
bright  spots  in  the  dark  picture  that  we  are  to  deal. 

Count  de  Lopinot,  an  old  officer  in  the  army,  who 
had  settled  with  his  wife  upon  the  island,  had  been 
so  uniformly  kind  to  his  slaves,  that  their  hearts 
were  with  him  ;  they  rose  for  the  protection  of  him 
and  his   family,  and  when  the  way  of  escape  was 


The  Faithful  Slaves  of  Haiti.  341 

open,  entreated  him  to  take  them  all  with  him,  to 
live  and  die  in  his  service.  The  place  chosen  for 
his  retreat  was  the  English  island  of  Trinidad, 
where  he  obtained  from  Government  a  grant  of 
waste  land  among  the  mountains,  to  be  selected  by 
himself.  The  centre  of  Trinidad  is  so  mountainous 
as  to  be  still  uncultivated  and  unsettled,  and  the 
count  was  forced  to  take  with  him  his  body-guard  of 
faithful  negroes,  to  cut  a  passage  for  him  through 
the  tropical  forest. 

The  spot  he  selected  was  beautifully  situated,  fer- 
tile, and  well  watered  ;  but  the  best  road  he  could 
make  to  it  was  so  rugged  as  to  be  unfit  for  the 
transport  of  sugar,  and  he  therefore  laid  it  out  for 
cocoa,  —  upon  a  design  peculiar  to  himself.  The 
outline  of  his  grounds  represented  a  gigantic  French 
general  officer,  epaulettes  and  all,  upon  whose  pros- 
trate form  were  ranged  cocoa-plants,  at  about  fifteen 
or  twenty  feet  apart,  each  about  the  size  of  a  goose- 
berry-bush ;  and  at  intervals,  the  forest-tree  known 
by  the  negroes  as  Cocoa-Mammy,  because  it  is  sup- 
posed to  shade,  nourish,  and  even  gather  dew  for 
the  cocoa-plants  under  its  charge.  It  is  from  sixty 
to  eighty  feet  high,  and  bears  brilliant  flame-colored 
blossoms,  so  that  the  hills  of  Trinidad  seem  all  in  a 
blaze  in  its  flowering  season.  To  this  curiously- 
planned  estate  the  grateful  count  gave  the  surname 
of  La  Reconnaissance,  and  on  the  first  day  when  he 
brought  his  countess,  and  installed  the  negro  fam- 
ilies in  their  new  abodes,  he  celebrated  a  solemn 
thanksgiving.  So  much  was  he  beloved,  that  twen- 
ty years  after  his  death  the  negroes  of  La  Recon- 
naissance still  kept  a  holiday  in  his  memory. 

These  negroes  were  loyal  in  a  body  ;  but  on  an- 
other estate  in  St.  Domingo  there  was  a  single  loyal 
exception,  a  genuine  African,  not  born  on  the  estate, 
but  brought  thither  by  the  slave  trade.  The  whole 
of  his  master's  family  were   massacred,  excepting 


342  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

two  little  boys  of  five  and  three  years  old,  whom  he 
contrived  to  hide,  and  afterwards  to  escape  with  to 
the  coast,  where  he  put  them  on  board  ship,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  conveying  them  to  Carolina.  Happily,  in 
those  days,  slavery  was  apparently  on  the  decline, 
even  in  the  Southern  States,  and  free  negroes  were 
allowed  to  be  at  large  in  the  streets  of  Charleston, 
so  that  the  faithful  man  was  able  to  maintain  the 
children  by  his  labor  ;  and  not  only  this,  but  to  fulfil 
his  earnest  purpose  of  educating  them  consistently 
with  their  parents'  station  in  life.  He  placed  them 
at  a  good  boarding-school,  and,  while  living  a  hard 
and  frugal  life  himself,  gave  them  each  a  dollar  a 
week  for  pocket-money. 

The  elder  of  the  two  went  to  sea,  rose  to  be  cap- 
tain of  a  merchant-ship,  and  married  a  Spanish 
heiress  in  Cuba,  when,  on  settling  upon  her  estate, 
he  at  once  sent  for  his  good  old  guardian,  built  him 
a  house,  and  made  him  an  overseer,  giving  him,  in 
memory  of  old  times,  a  dollar  every  week  for  pock- 
et-money, and  treating  him  with  great  affection.  The 
old  man  lived  to  a  great  age,  and,  on  his  death,  his 
master  was  surprised  to  find  that,  though  a  devout 
Christian  and  an  intelligent  man,  he  still  wore  round 
his  neck  a  little  African  amulet,  which  no  doubt  his 
affectionate  spirit  retained  as  the  only  memory  of 
his  native  land. 

Another  negro,  named  Eustache,  who  was  born  in 
1773,  on  the  sugar  plantation  of  Monsieur  Belin  de 
Villeneuve,  in  the  northern  part  of  the  island,  had 
been  always  a  remarkably  intelligent  man,  though 
entirely  ignorant,  and  not  even  able  to  read.  When 
the  bloody  attacks  on  the  houses  of  the  whites  took 
place,  he  is  said,  by  his  timely  warnings  and  ingen- 
ious contrivances,  to  have  at  different  times  saved 
the  lives  of  no  less  than  4C0  white  persons  without 
betraying  the  negroes  ;  and,  lastly,  he  was  enabled 
to  place  his   master  safely  on  board  an  American 


The  Faithful  Slaves  of  Haiti.  343 

vessel  with  a  sufficient  cargo  of  sugar  to  secure  him 
from  destitution.  Eustache  himself  embarked  at 
the  same  time,  considering  himself  as  still  M.  Be- 
lin's  slave  as  completely  as  though  they  were  still 
on  the  plantation.  On  the  voyage  the  vessel  was 
captured  by  an  English  privateer  ;  but,  while  all  the 
Americans  and  French  were  put  under  hatches,  the 
negro  was  left  at  large  to  profit  by  the  liberty  the 
English  sailors  fancied  they  had  conferred  upon 
him.  They  were  a  drunken,  undisciplined  set,  and 
while  they  were  carousing,  Eustache  played  all  sorts 
of  antics  for  their  amusement,  until  they  were  so 
completely  off  their  guard,  that  he  succeeded  in  re- 
leasing and  arming  the  prisoners  and  carrying  off 
the  prize,  with  the  English  as  prisoners  in  their 
turn,  safe  into  the  roads  of  Baltimore.  He  there 
hired  himself  out  to  work,  and  applied  all  his  earn- 
ings to  the  assistance  of  the  many  ruined  French 
from  St.  Domingo  who  had  taken  refuge  there.  Af- 
ter a  time  it  was  supposed  that  the  French  power 
was  re-established  in  the  island,  and  M.  Belin  ven- 
tured back,  with  a  number  of  his  friends,  in  hopes 
of  recovering  his  property ;  but  he  found  himself 
in  greater  danger  than  ever.  The  town  of  Fort 
Dauphin  was  occupied  by  the  Spaniards,  and  20,000 
negroes,  commanded  by  a  black  called  Jean  Fran- 
cois, were  encamped  on  the  heights  near  the  town, 
and  massacred  every  Frenchman  they  encountered. 
The  Spaniards  gave  the  unhappy  French  no  arms 
nor  assistance,  and  M.  Belin  fled  for  his  life  to  the 
sea-shore,  pursued  by  a  party  of  blacks.  He  saw  a 
Spanish  guard  before  him,  and,  throwing  off  his 
coat,  ran  in  among  them,  giving  his  name  to  the  of- 
ficer. A  Spanish  uniform  was  thrown  over  him, 
and  he  was  saved. 

Eustache  had  been  separated  from  his  master  in 
the"  crowd,  and,  uncertain  whether  he  were  still 
alive,  resolved  at  least  to  save  his   property.     He 


344  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

actually  persuaded  Jean  Francais's  wife  to  let  him 
hide  some  boxes  of  valuables  under  her  bed,  by  tell- 
ing her  that,  if  his  master  had  been  massacred, 
they  would  belong  to  himself;  and  then,  going  to 
the  place  of  slaughter,  examined  all  the  corpses., 
but  happily  in  vain.  After  much  inquiry,  he  dis- 
covered M.  Eelin.  and  succeeded  in  getting  both 
him  and  his  property  on  beard  ship,  and  bringing 
all  safely  a  second  time  to  Baltimore. 

M.  Eelin  afterwards  resided  at  Pert  au  Prince, 
where  he  became  President  of  the  Council.  Eus- 
tache  continued  in  his  service  as  attached  and  de- 
voted as  ever,  and,  after  a  time  observing  that  he 
was  distressed  by  the  increasing  dimness  of  his 
eyesight,  this  devoted  slave  went  secretly  at  four 
o'clock  every  morning  to  get  himself  taught  to  read, 
overcame  all  difficulties,  and.  when  he  thought  him- 
self perfect  in  the  art.  came  to  his  master  with  a 
book,  and  thenceforth  kept  the  old  man  occupied 
and  amused. 

M.  Belin  took  care  to  emancipate  his  faithful  ser- 
vant before  his  death,  and  left  him  a  ccnsiderable 
legacy,  which  he  regarded  as  a  trust  for  his  master's 
distressed  countrymen,  and  spent  from  day  to  day 
in  acts  of  beneficence,  gaining  his  own  livelihood 
by  hiring  himself  out  as  a  cook  at  great  dinners,  for 
he  was  admirable  in  that  line,  and  obtained  constant 
employment.  In  i S3 1  he  was  still  alive,  and  was 
sought  out  to  receive  the'prize  for  which  ten  years 
before  M.  Monthyon  had  left  an  endowment,  to 
serve  as  an  acknowledgment  of  the  noblest  action 
that  could  each  year  be  discovered.  Eustache's  ex- 
ertions were  then  made  known,  and.  in  the  words  of 
the  discourse  made  on  that  occasion,  his  daily  deeds 
were  thus  described  :  "  Every  moment  some  new 
instance  of  his  incorrigible  generosity  comes  to 
light.  Sometimes  it  is  poor  children  whom  he  has 
put  out  to  nurse,  or  others  whose  apprentice  fee  he 


The  Faithful  Slaves  of  Haiti.  345 

has  paid.  Sometimes  he  buys  tools  or  agricultural 
implements  for  workmen  without  means.  Here,  re- 
lations of  his  master  obtain  from  him  large  sums 
which  they  will  not  restore  and  that  he  will  never 
demand ;  there,  he  is  left  unpaid  by  persons  who 
have  employed  him  and  whom  he  does  not  press 
because  they  have  fallen  into  misfortune,  and  he 
respects  distress."  When  he  found,  to  his  great 
surprise,  how  much  his  doings  were  admired,  he 
answered  one  of  the  committee  who  had  sought 
him  out,  "  Indeed,  sir,  I  am  not  doing  this  for  men, 
but  for  the  Master  above." 

Eustache  was  not  the  only  negro  who  received  a 
"prize  of  virtue."  In  1848  the  French  liberated  all 
the  slaves  in  their  various  colonies,  without  having 
given  sufficient  time  for  preparation.  The  blacks 
made  instant  use  of  their  freedom  by  deserting  their 
masters  and  setting  up  little  huts  for  themselves, 
with  gardens,  where  the  tropical  climate  enabled 
them  to  grow  all  their  wants  required  without  any 
need  for  exertion.  This  was,  of  course,  ruin  to  the 
owners  of  the  large  plantations  hitherto  entirely 
dependent  on  slave  labor.  Among  those  thus  de- 
serted was  one  in  French  Guiana,  named  La  Par- 
terre, and  belonging  to  a  lady,  a  widow  with  a  large 
family.  Out  of  seventy  negro  slaves,  not  one  re- 
mained on  the  estate  except  Paul  Dunez,  who  had 
become  a  sort  of  foremm,  and  who  promised  his 
mistress  that  he  would  do  his  utmost  for  her.  He 
tried  at  first  to  obtain  some  hired  labor,  but  not 
succeeding,  he  tried  to  keep  as  much  as  possible 
undar  cultivation,  though  he  had  no  one  to  help 
him  but  his  wife  and  young  sons.  The  great  diffi- 
culty was  in  keeping  up  the  dykes  which  fence  out 
the  coast  from  the  sea  on  that  low,  marshy  coast  of 
northern  South  America,  a  sort  of  tropical  Holland. 
Day  after  day  was  Paul  laboring  at  the  dykes,  and 
at  every  spring  tide    he  would   watch   for  two   or 


346  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

three  nights  together,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  repair 
any  breach  in  the  embankment.  This  went  on  for 
thirty-two  months,  and  was  labor  freely  given  with- 
out hire,  for  faithful  loyalty's  sake  ;  but  at  last  the 
equinoctial  tides  of  1851  were  too  much  for  Paul's 
single  arm,  —  he  could  not  be  at  every  breach  at 
once,  and  the  plantation  was  all  laid  under  water. 

To  work  he  set  again  to  repair  the  damage  as 
best  he  might,  and  the  government  at  Cayenne, 
hearing  of  his  exertions,  resolved  to  assign  to  him 
a  prize  which  had  been  founded  for  the  most  meri- 
torious laborer  in  the  colony ;  namely,  the  sum  of 
600  francs  and  admission  for  his  son  into  the  col- 
lege at  the  capital.  But  Paul's  whole  devotion  was 
still  for  his  mistress.  Her  son,  not  his  own,  was 
sent  to  the  college,  and  the  600  francs  were  ex- 
pended in  fitting  the  boy  out  as  became  the  former 
circumstances  of  his  family,  on  whose  service  Paul 
continued  to  spend  himself. 

The  next  year  his  name  was  sent  up  to  Paris,  and 
the  first  prize  of  virtue  was  decreed  to  him  for  his 
long  course  of  self-denying  exertions. 


THE  PETITIONERS  FOR  PARDON. 

I720    AND    ABOUT    1805. 

NO  one  in  our  country  has  deserved  warmer  or 
more  loving  esteem  than  Helen  Walker,  the 
Scottish  maiden,  who,  though  she  would  not  utter  a 
word  of  untruth  to  save  her  sister  from  being  sen- 
tenced to  death,  yet  came  on  foot  from  Edinburgh 
to  London,  made  her  way  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle, 
and  being  introduced  by  him,  by  her  entreaties  ob- 
tained that  sister's  pardon  from  Queen  Caroline, 
who  was  acting  as  Regent  in  the  absence  of  George 
II.  It  is  hard  to  say  which  was  the  most  glorious, 
the  God-fearing  truth  that  strengthened  this  peas- 
ant girl  to  risk  a  life  so  dear  to  her,  or  the  trustful 
courage  and  perseverance  that  carried  her  through 
a  journey,  which  in  the  early  pprt  of  the  eighteenth 
century  was  both  tedious  and  full  of  danger  ;  and  it 
is  satisfactory  to  know  that  her  after-life,  though 
simple  and  homely,  by  no  means  was  unworthy  of 
the  high  excellence  of  her  youth.  Her  sister,  Tib- 
bie, for  whom  she  had  done  so  much,  married  and 
left  her,  and  she  lived  on  to  be  remembered  by  her 
neighbors  as  a  religious,  quiet  old  woman,  gaining 
her  living  by  knitting  new  feet  to  old  stockings, 
teaching  little  children,  and  keeping  chickens.  Her 
neighbors  respected  her,  and  called  her  a  "lofty 
body."  They  used  to  tell  that  in  a  thunder-storm 
she  used  to  move  herself  with  her  work  and  her 


348  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Bible  to  the  front  of  the  house,  saying  that  the  Al- 
mighty could  smite  as  well  in  the  city  as  in  the 
field.  Sir  Walter  Scott  made  her  the  model  of  the 
most  beautiful  character  he  ever  drew,  and  after- 
wards placed  a  monument  to  her  honor  in  her  own 
village  church. 

In  the  beginning  of  this  century,  a  girl  younger 
than  Helen  Walker  was  impelled  to  a  journey  be- 
side which  that  from  Edinburgh  to  London  seems 
only  like  a  summer  stroll,  and  her  motive  was  in 
like  manner  deep  affection,  love  truly  stronger  than 
death.  As  Helen  Walker  served  to  suggest  the 
Jeanie  Deans  of  the  "  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,"  so 
Prascovia  Lopouloff  was  the  origin  of  Elizabeth,  the 
heroine  of  Madame  Cottin's  "  Exiles  of  Siberia," 
but  in  both  cases  the  real  facts  have  been  a  good 
deal  altered  in  the  tales,  and  we  may  doubt  whether 
the  Russian  lady  appears  to  so  much  advantage, 
when  dressed  up  by  the  French  authoress,  as  does 
the  Scottish  lassie  in  the  hands  of  her  countrymen. 

Prascovia  was  the  daughter  of  a  captain  in  the 
Russian  army,  who  for  some  unknown  reason  had 
undergone  the  sentence  of  exile  to  Siberia,  from  the 
capricious  and  insane  Czar,  Paul  I.  The  Russian 
government,  being  despotic,  is  naturally  inclined  to 
be  suspicious,  and  it  has  long  been  the  custom  to 
send  off  persons  supposed  to  be  dangerous  to  the 
state,  to  live  in  the  intensely  cold  and  remote  dis- 
trict of  Siberia.  Actual  criminals  are  marched  off  in 
chains,  and  kept  working  in  the  mines  ;  but  political 
offenders  are  permitted  to  live  with  their  families, 
have  a  weekly  sum  allowed  for  their  support,  and 
when  it  is  insufficient,  can  eke  it  out  by  any  form  of 
labor  they  prefer,  whether  by  hunting,  or  by  such 
farming  as  the  climate  will  allow. 

The  miseries  of  the  exiles  have  been  much  miti- 
gated in  these  later  times,  many  more  comforts  are 
permitted  them,  and  though  closely  watched,  and 


The  Petitioners  for  Pardon.  349 

suffering  from  many  annoying  regulations,  those  of 
higher  rank  receive  a  sufficient  sum  out  of  their 
own  revenues  to  enable  them  to  live  in  tolerable 
ease,  and  without  actual  drudgery  ;  and  at  Tobolsk, 
the  capital  of  Siberia,  there  is  a  highly  educated  and 
accomplished  society  of  banished  Poles  and  of  Rus- 
sians who  have  incurred  suspicion. 

Under  the  Czars  who  reigned  before  the  kind- 
hearted  Alexander  I.,  the  banishment  was  far  more 
terrible.  It  was  not  only  the  being  absent  from 
home  and  friends,  but  it  was  a  fall  from  all  the  luxu- 
ries of  civilized  life  to  the  utmost  poverty,  and  that 
in  a  climate  of  fearful  severity,  with  a  winter  lasting 
nine  months,  and  the  sun  unseen  for  many  weeks 
of  that  time.  Captain  Lopouloff  was  condemned 
for  life,  was  placed  in  the  village  of  Ischim,  far  to 
the  north  of  Tobolsk,  and  only  obtained  an  allow- 
ance of  ten  kopeks  a  day.  His  wife,  and  their  little 
girl  of  about  three  years  old,  accompanied  him,  and 
the  former  adapted  herself  patiently  to  her  situa- 
tion, working  hard  at  the  common  domestic  cares 
for  which  she  had  been  used  to  trust  to  servants  ; 
and  as  the  little  Prascovia  grew  older,  she  not  only 
helped  her  mother,  but  gained  employment  in  the 
village,  going  out  to  assist  in  the  late  and  scanty 
rye  harvest,  and  obtaining  a  small  bundle  of  the  rye 
as  her  wages.  She  was  very  happy,  even  in  this 
wild,  dreary  home,  amid  all  the  deep  snows,  iron 
frosts,  and  long  darkness,  until  she  was  nearly  fif- 
teen, when  she  began  to  understand  how  wretched 
her  father  was  in  his  banishment.  He  had  sent  a 
petition  to  the  Governor  of  Siberia,  in  the  charge 
of  an  officer,  who  had  promised  to  represent  his 
case  strongly,  and  the  watching  for  the  answer,  and 
continued  disappointment,  whenever  a  courier  ar- 
rived from  Tobolsk,  rendered  him  so  restless,  that 
he  no  longer  tried  to  put  on  a  cheerful  countenance 
before  his  daughter,  but  openly  lamented  his  hard 


35°  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

fate,  in  seeing  her  growing  up  untaught  and  work- 
ing with  her  hands  like  the  meanest  serf. 

His  despair  awoke  Prascovia  from  her  childish 
enjoyments.  She  daily  prayed  that  he  might  be 
brought  home  and  comforted,  and,  as  she  said  her- 
self, it  one  day  darted  into  her  mind  like  a  flash  of 
lightning,  just  as  she  finished  saying  her  prayers, 
that  she  might  go  to  Petersburg  and  obtain  his  par- 
don. Long  did  she  dwell  upon  the  thought,  going 
alone  among  the  pine-trees  to  dream  over  it,  and  to 
pray  that  grace  and  strength  might  be  given  her  for 
this  great  work,  —  this  exceeding  bliss  of  restoring 
her  father  to  his  home.  Still  she  durst  not  mention 
the  project ;  it  seemed  so  impossible,  that  it  died 
away  upon  her  lips  whenever  she  tried  to  ask  her 
father's  permission,  till  at  last  she  set  herself  a  time, 
at  which  nothing  should  prevent  her  from  speaking. 
The  day  came  ;  she  went  out  among  the  whispering 
pines,  and  again  prayed  for  strength  to  make  her 
proposal,  and  that  her  father  might  be  led  to  listen 
to  it  favorably.  But  prayers  are  not  always  soon 
answered.  Her  father  listened  to  her  plan  in 
silence,  then  called  out  to  his  wife  :  "  Here  is  a  fine 
patroness  !  Our  daughter  is  going  off  to  Peters- 
burg to  speak  for  us  to  the  Emperor,"  and  he  re- 
lated all  the  scheme  that  had  been  laid  before  him, 
with  such  a  throbbing  heart,  in  a  tone  of  amuse- 
ment. 

"  She  ought  to  be  attending  to  her  work  instead 
of  talking  nonsense,"  said  the  wife  ;  and  when  poor 
Prascovia,  more  mortified  at  derision  than  by  anger, 
began  to  cry  bitterly,  her  mother  held  out  a  cloth  to 
her,  saying  in  a  kind,  half-coaxing  tone,  "  Here,  my 
dear,  dust  the  table  for  dinner,  and  then  you  may 
set  off  to  Petersburg  at  your  ease." 

Still  day  after  day  Prascovia  returned  to  the  charge, 
entreating  that  her  scheme  might  at  last  be  consid- 
ered, till  her  father  grew  displeased,  and  severely 


The  Petitioners  for  Pardon.  351 

forbade  her  to  mention  it  again.  She  abstained  ; 
but  for  three  whole  years  she  never  failed  to  add  to 
her  daily  prayers  a  petition  that  his  consent  might 
be  gained.  During  this  time  her  mother  had  a  long 
and  serious  illness,  and  Prascovia's  care,  as  both 
nurse  and  housewife,  gave  her  father  and  mother 
such  confidence  in  her,  that  they  no  longer  regarded 
her  as  a  child  ;  and  when  she  again  ventured  to 
bring  her  pla:  before  them,  they  did  not  laugh  at 
her,  but  besought  her  not  to  leave  them  in  their  de- 
clining years  to  expose  herself  to  danger  on  so  wild 
a  project  She  answered  by  tears,  but  she  could 
not  lay  it  aside. 

Another  difficulty  was,  that  without  a  passport  she 
would  have  been  immediately  sent  back  to  Ischim, 
and  so  many  petitions  from  her  father  had  been 
disregarded,  that  there  was  little  chance  that  any 
paper  sent  by  him  to  Tobolsk  would  be  attended  to. 
However,  she  found  one  of  their  fellow-exiles  who 
drew  up  a  request  in  hue  form  for  a  passport  for  her, 
and  after  six  rronths  more  of  waiting  the  answer 
arrived.  She  was  not  herself  a  prisoner,  she  could 
leave  Siberia  whenever  she  pleased,  and  the  pass- 
port was  enclosed  for  her.  Ker  father,  however, 
seized  upon  it,  and  locked  it  up,  declaring  that  he 
had  only  allowed  the  application  to  go  in  the  cer- 
tainty that  it  would  be  refused,  and  that  nothing 
should  induce  him  to  let  a  girl  of  eighteen  depart 
alone  for  such  a  journey. 

Prascovia  still  persevered,  and  her  disappoint- 
ment worked  upon  her  mother  to  promise  not  to 
prevent  her  from  going,  provided  her  father  con- 
sented ,  and  at  last  he  yielded.  "  What  shall  we  do 
with  this  child  ?  "  he  said  :  "  we  shall  have  to  let  her 
go."  Still  he  said,  "  Do  you  think,  poor  child,  that 
you  can  speak  to  the  Emperor  as  you  speak  to  your 
father  in  Siberia  ?  Sentinels  guard  every  entrance 
to  his  palace,  and  you  will  never  pass  the  threshold. 


352  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Poor  even  to  beggary,  without  clothes  or  intro- 
ductions, how  could  you  appear,  and  who  will 
deign  to  present  you  ?  "  However,  Prascovia 
trusted  that  the  same  Providence  that  had  brought 
her  the  passport  would  smooth  other  difficulties  ; 
she  had  boundless  confidence  in  the  Power  to  whom 
she  had  committed  herself,  and  her  own  earnest 
will  made  obstacles  seem  as  nothing.  That  her 
undertaking  should  not  be  disobedient  was  all  she 
desired.  And  at  length  the  consent  was  won,  and 
the  8th  of  September  fixed  for  her  day  of  departure. 

At  dawn  she  was  dressed,  with  a  little  bag  over 
her  shoulder,  and  her  father  was  trying  to  make  her 
take  the  whole  family  store  of  wealth,  one  silver  rou- 
ble, though,  as  she  truly  said,  this  was  not  enough 
to  take  her  to  Petersburg,  and  might  do  some  good 
at  home,  and  she  only  took  it  at  last  when  he  laid 
his  strict  commands  on  her.  Two  of  the  poorest  of 
the  exiles  tried  to  force  on  her  all  the  money  they 
had,  —  thirty  copper  kopeks  and  a  silver  twenty- 
kopek  piece  ;  and  though  she  refused  these,  she 
affectionately  promised  that  the  kind  givers  should 
share  in  any  favor  she  should  obtain. 

When  the  first  sunbeam  shone  into  the  room, 
there  was,  according  to  the  beautiful  old  Russian 
custom,  a  short,  solemn  silence,  for  private  prayer 
for  the  traveller.  Then,  after  a  few  words,  also 
customary,  of  indifferent  conversation,  there  was 
a  last  embrace,  and  Prascovia,  kneeling  down,  re- 
ceived her  parents'  blessing,  rose  up,  and  set  her 
face  upon  her  way,  —  a  girl  of  nineteen,  with  a 
single  rouble  in  her  pocket,  to  walk  through  vast 
expanses  of  forest,  and  make  her  way  to  the  pres- 
ence of  her  sovereign. 

The  two  poor  exiles  did  their  utmost  for  her  by 
escorting  her  as  far  as  they  were  allowed  to  go  from 
Ischim,  and  they  did  not  leave  her  till  she  had  joined 
a  party  of  girls  on  their  way  to  one  of  the  villages 


The  Petitioners  for  Pardon.  353 

she  had  to  pass.  Once  they  had  a  fright  from  some 
half-tipsy  lads  ;  but  they  shook  them  off,  and  reached 
the  village,  where  Prascovia  was  known  and  hos- 
pitably lodged  for  the  night.  She  was  much  tired 
in  the  morning,  and  when  she  first  set  forth  on  her 
way,  the  sense  of  terror  at  her  loneliness  was  almost 
too  much  for  her,  till  she  thought  ot  the  angel  who 
succored  Hagar,  and  took  courage  ;  but  she  had  mis- 
taken the  road,  and  by  and  by  found  herself  at  the 
last  village  she  had  passed  the  night  before.  Indeed, 
she  often  lost  her  way  ;  and  when  she  asked  the 
road  to  Petersburg,  she  was  only  laughed  at.  She 
knew  the  names  of  no  nearer  places  in  the  way,  but 
fancied  that  the  sacred  town  of  Kief,  where  the  Rus- 
sian power  had  first  begun,  was  on  the  route  ;  so  if 
people  did  not  know  which  was  the  road  to  Peters- 
burg, she  would  ask  for  Kief.  One  day,  when  she 
came  to  a  place  where  three  roads  branched  off,  she 
asked  some  travellers  in  a  carriage  that  passed  her, 
which  of  them  led  to  Kief.  "  Whichever  you  please," 
they  answered,  laughing  ;  "  one  leads  as  much  as  the 
other  either  to  Kief,  Paris,  or  Rome."  She  chose 
the  middle  one,  which  was  fortunately  the  right,  but 
she  wis  never  able  to  give  any  exact  account  of  the 
course  she  had  taken,  for  she  confused  the  names 
of  the  villages  she  passed,  and  only  remembered 
certain  incidents  that  had  impressed  themselves  on 
her  memory.  In  the  lesser  hamlets  she  was  usually 
kindly  received  in  the  first  cottage  where  she  asked 
for  shelter  ;  but  in  larger  places,  with  houses  of  a 
superior  order,  she  was  often  treated  as  a  suspicious- 
looking  vagabond.  For  instance,  when  not  far  from 
a  place  called  Kamouicheff,  she  was  caught  in  a  furi- 
ous storm  at  the  end  of  a  long  day's  march.  She 
hurried  on  in  hopes  of  reaching  the  nearest  houses  ; 
but  a  tree  was  blown  down  just  before  her,  and  she 
thought  it  safer  to  hasten  into  a  thicket,  the  close 
bushes  of  which  sheltered  her  a  little  against  the 
23 


354  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

wind.  Darkness  came  on  before  the  storm  abated 
enough  for  her  to  venture  out,  and  there  she  stayed, 
without  daring  to  move,  though  the  rain  at  length 
made  its  way  through  the  branches,  and  soaked  her 
to  the  skin.  At  dawn,  she  dragged  herself  to  the 
road,  and  was  there  offered  a  place  in  a  cart  driven 
by  a  peasant,  who  set  her  down  in  the  middle  of  the 
village  at  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  She 
fell  down  while  getting  out,  and  her  clothes  were  not 
only  wet  through  with  the  night's  drenching,  but  cov- 
ered with  mire  ;  she  was  spent  with  cold  and  hunger, 
and  felt  herself  such  a  deplorable  object,  that  the 
neatness  of  the  houses  filled  her  with  alarm.  She, 
however,  ventured  to  approach  an  open  window, 
where  she  saw  a  woman  shelling  peas,  and  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  rest  and  dry  herself,  but  the  woman 
surveyed  her  scornfully,  and  ordered  her  off;  and 
she  met  with  no  better  welcome  at  any  other  house. 
At  one,  where  she  sat  down  at  the  door,  the  mis- 
tress drove  her  off,  saying  that  she  harbored  neither 
thieves  nor  vagabonds.  "  At  least,"  thought  the 
poor  wanderer,  ''they  cannot  hunt  me  from  the 
church  "  ;  but  she  found  the  door  locked,  and  when 
she  sat  down  on  its  stone  steps,  the  village  boys 
came  round  her,  hooting  at  her,  and  calling  her  a 
thief  and  runaway  ;  and  thus  she  remained  for  two 
whole  hours,  ready  to  die  with  cold  and  hunger,  but 
inwardly  praying  for  strength  to  bear  this  terrible 
trial. 

At  last,  however,  a  kinder  woman  came  up  through 
the  rude  little  mob,  and  spoke  to  her  in  a  gentle 
manner.  Prascovia  told  what  a  terrible  night  she 
had  spent  in  the  wood,  and  the  starost,  or  village 
magistrate,  examined  her  passport,  and  found  that 
it  answered  for  her  character.  The  good  woman 
cfiered  to  take  her  home,  but  on  trying  to  rise, 
she  found  her  limbs  so  stiff  that  she  could  not 
move  ;  she  had  lost  one  of  her  shoes,  and  her  feet 


The  Petitioners  for  Pardon.  355 

were  terribly  swollen  ;  indeed,  she  never  entirely  re- 
covered the  effects  of  that  dreadful  night  of  exposure. 
The  'villagers  were  shocked  at  their  own  inhospital- 
ity  ;  they  fetched  a  cart  and  lodged  her  safely  with 
the  good  woman,  with  whom  she  remained  several 
days,  and  when  she  was  again  able  to  proceed,  one 
of  the  villagers  gave  her  a  pair  of  boots.  She  was 
often  obliged  to  rest  for  a  clay  or  two,  according  to 
the  state  of  her  strength,  the  weather,  or  the  recep- 
tion she  met  with,  and  she  always  endeavored  to 
requite  the  hospitality  she  received  by  little  services, 
such  as  sweeping,  washing,  or  sewing  for  her  hosts. 
She  found  it  wiser  not  to  begin  by  telling  her  story, 
or  people  took  her  for  an  impostor  ;  she  generally 
began  by  begging  for  a  morsel  of  food ;  then,  if  she 
met  with  a  kind  answer,  she  would  talk  of  her  wea- 
riness and  obtain  leave  to  rest ;  and  when  she  was  a 
little  more  at  home  with  the  people  of  the  house, 
would  tell  them  her  story  ;  and  when,  if  nothing  else 
would  do,  she  was  in  urgent  need,  the  sight  of  her 
passport  secured  attention  to  her  from  the  petty 
authorities,  since  she  was  there  described  as  the 
daughter  of  a  captain  in  the  army.  But  she  always 
said  that  she  did  not,  comparatively,  often  meet  with 
rebuffs,  whilst  the  acts  of  kindness  she  had  received 
were  beyond  counting.  "  People  fancy,"  she  used 
afterwards  to  say,  "  that  my  journey  was  most  dis- 
astrous, because  I  tell  the  troubles  and  adventures 
that  befell  me,  and  pass  over  the  kind  welcomes  I 
received,  because  nobody  cares  to  hear  them." 

Once  she  had  a  terrible  fright.  She  had  been 
refused  an  entrance  at  all  the  houses  in  a  village 
street,  when  an  old  man,  who  had  been  very  short 
and  sharp  in  his  rejection,  came  and  called  her  back. 
She  did  not  like  his  looks,  but  there  was  no  help  for 
it,  and  she  turned  back  with  him.  His  wife  looked 
even  more  repulsive  than  himself,  and  no  sooner 
had  they  entered  the  miserable  one-roomed  cottage, 


356  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

than  she  shut  the  door  and  fastened  it  with  strong 
bolts,  so  that  the  only  light  in  the  place  came  from 
oak  slips  which  were  set  on  fire  and  stuck  into  a 
hole  in  the  wall.  By  their  flicker  Prascovia  thought 
she  saw  the  old  people  staring  at  her  most  unpleas- 
antly, and  presently  they  asked  her  where  she  came 
from. 

"  From  Ischim.     I  am  going  to  Petersburg." 

"  And  you  have  plenty  of  money  for  the  journey  ?  " 

"  Only  80  copper-kopecks  now,"  said  Prasco- 
via, very  glad  just  then  to  have  no  more. 

"That  's  a  lie,"  shouted  the  old  woman  ;  "people 
don't  go  that  distance  without  money." 

She  vainly  declared  it  was  all  she  had  ;  they  did 
not  believe  her,  and  she  could  hardly  keep  back  her 
tears  of  indignation  and  terror.  At  last  they  gave 
her  a  few  potatoes  to  eat.  and  told  her  to  lie  down 
on  the  great  brick  stove,  the  wide  ledges  of  which 
are  the  favorite  sleeping-places  of  the  poorer  Rus- 
sians. She  laid  aside  her  upper  garments,  and  with 
them  her  pockets  and  her  pack,  hoping  within  her- 
self that  the  smallness  of  the  sum  might  at  least 
make  her  not  worth  murdering ;  then  praying  with 
all  her  might,  she  lay  down.  As  soon  as  they 
thought  her  asleep,  they  began  whispering. 

"She  must  have  more  money,"  they  said;  "she 
certainly  has  notes." 

"  I  saw  a  string  round  her  neck,"  said  the  old  wo- 
man, "•  and  a  little  bag  hanging  to  it.  The  money 
must  be  there." 

Then  after  some  lower  murmers.  they  said,  "  No 
one  saw  her  come  in  here.  She  is  not  known  to  be 
still  in  the  village." 

And  next  the  horrified  girl  saw  the  old  woman 
climbing  up  the  stove.  She  again  declared  that 
she  had  no  money,  and  entreated  for  her  life,  but 
the  woman  made  no  answer,  only  pulled  the  bag 
from  off"  her  neck,  and  felt  her  clothes  all  over,  even 


The  Petitioners  for  Pardon.  357 

taking  off  her  boots,  and  opening  her  hands,  while 
the  man  held  the  light ;  but,  at  last,  finding  nothing 
in  the  bag  but  the  passport,  they  left  her  alone,  and 
lay  down  themselves.  She  lay  trembling  for  a  good 
while,  but  at  last  she  knew  by  their  breathing  that 
they  were  both  asleep,  and  she,  too,  fell  into  a  slum- 
ber from  which  she  did  not  waken  till  the  old  wo- 
man roused  her  at  broad  daylight.  There  was  a 
plentiful  breakfast  of  peasant  fare  prepared  for  her, 
and  both  spoke  to  her  much  more  kindly,  asking 
her  questions,  in  reply  to  which  she  told  them  part  of 
her  story.  They  seemed  interested,  and  assured  her 
that  they  only  had  searched  her  because  they  thought 
she  might  be  a  dishonest  wanderer,  but  that  she 
would  find  that  they  were  far  from  being  robbers 
themselves.  Prascovia  was  heartily  glad  to  leave  their 
house  ;  but  when  she  ventured  to  look  into  her  little 
store,  she  found  that  her  80  kopecks  had  become 
120.  She  always  fully  believed  that  these  people 
had  had  the  worst  intentions,  and  thanked  God  for 
having  turned  their  hearts.  Her  other  greatest 
alarm  was  one  morning,  when  she  had  set  out  from 
her  night's  lodging  before  any  one  was  up,  and  all 
the  village  clogs  flew  at  her.  Running  and  striking 
with  her  stick  only  made  them  more  furious,  and 
one  of  them  was  tearing  at  the  bottom  of  her  gown, 
when  she  flung  herself  on  her  face,  recommending 
her  soul  to  God,  as  she  felt  a  cold  nose  upon  her 
neck  ;  but  the  beast  was  only  smelling  her,  she  was 
not  even  once  bitten,  and  a  peasant  passing  by 
drove  them  off. 

Winter  began  to  come  on,  and  an  eight  days' 
snow-storm  forced  her  to  stop  till  it  was  over  ;  but 
when  she  wanted  to  set  off  again,  the  peasants  de- 
clared that  to  travel  on  foot  alone  in  the  snow  would 
be  certain  death  even  to  the  strongest  men,  for  the 
wind  raises  the  drifts,  and  makes  the  way  undis- 
tinguishable,  and  they  detained  her  till  the  arrival 


358  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

of  a  convoy  of  sledges,  which  were  taking  pro- 
visions to  Ekatherinenburg  for  the  Christmas  feasts. 
The  drivers,  on  learning  her  story,  offered  her  a 
seat  in  a  sledge,  but  her  garments  were  not  adapted 
for  winter  travelling,  and  though  they  covered  her 
with  one  of  the  wrappers  of  their  goods,  on  the 
fourth  day,  when  they  arrived  at  the  kharstina,  or 
solitary  posting-station,  the  intense  cold  had  so  af- 
fected her,  that  she  was  obliged  to  be  lifted  from  the 
sledge,  with  one  cheek  frost-bitten.  The  good  car- 
riers rubbed  it  with  snow,  and  took  every  possible 
care  of  her ;  but  they  said  it  was  impossible  to  take 
her  on  without  a  sheepskin  pelisse,  since  otherwise 
her  death  from  the  increasing  cold  was  certain.  She 
cried  bitterly  at  the  thought  of  missing  this  excel- 
lent escort,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  people  of 
the  kharstina  would  not  keep  her.  The  carriers 
then  agreed  to  club  together  to  buy  her  a  sheepskin, 
but  none  could  be  had  ;  no  one  at  the  station  would 
spare  theirs,  as  they  were  in  a  lonely  place,  and 
could  not  easily  get  another.  Though  the  carriers 
even  ofiered  a  sum  beyond  the  cost  to  the  maid  of 
the  inn,  if  she  would  part  with  hers,  she  still  refused  ; 
but  at  last  an  expedient  was  found.  "  Let  us  lend 
her  our  pelisses  by  turns,"  said  one  of  the  carriers. 
"  Or  rather,  let  her  always  wear  mine,  and  we  will 
change  about  every  verst."  To  this  all  agreed  ; 
Prascovia  was  well  wrapped  up  in  one  of  the  sheep- 
skin pelisses,  whose  owner  rolled  himself  in  the 
wrapper,  curled  his  feet  under  him,  and  sung  at  the 
top  of  his  lungs.  Every  verst-stone  there  was  a 
shifting  of  sheepskins,  and  there  was  much  merri- 
ment over  the  changes,  while  all  the  way  Prascovia's 
silent  prayers  arose,  that  these  kind  men's  health 
might  suffer  no  injury  from  the  cold  to  which  they 
thus  exposed  themselves. 

At  the  inn  at  which  they  put  up  at  Ekatherinen- 
burg, the  hostess  told  Prascovia  the  names  of  the 


The  Petitioners  for  Pardon.  359 

most  charitable  persons  in  the  town,  and  so  especial- 
ly praised  a  certain  Madame  Milin,  that  Prascovia 
resolved  to  apply  to  her  the  next  day  for  advice  how- 
to  proceed  further.  First,  as  it  was  Sunday,  how- 
ever, she  went  to  church.  Her  worn  travelling 
dress,  as  well  as  her  fervent  devotion,  attracted  at- 
tention, and  as  she  came  out,  a  lady  asked  her  who 
she  was.  Prascovia  gave  her  name,  and  further  re- 
quested to  be  directed  where  to  find  Madame  Milin, 
whose  benevolence  was  everywhere  talked  of.  "  I 
am  afraid,"  said  the  lady,  "that  this  Madame  Milin's 
beneficence  is  a  good  deal  exaggerated  ;  but  come 
with  me  and  I  will  take  care  of  you." 

Prascovia  did  not  much  like  this  way  of  speaking  ; 
but  the  stranger  pointed  to  Madame  Milin's  door, 
saying  that  if  she  were  rejected  there,  she  must  re- 
turn to  her.  Without  answering,  Prascovia  asked 
the  servants  whether  Madame  Milin  were  at  home, 
and  only  when  they  looked  at  their  mistress  in 
amazement,  did  she  discover  that  she  had  been  talk- 
ing to  Madame  Milin  herself  all  the  time. 

This  good  lady  kept  her  as  a  guest  all  the  rest  of 
the  winter,  and  strove  to  remedy  the  effects  of  the 
severe  cold  she  had  caught  on  the  night  of  the  tem- 
pest. At  the  same  time,  she  taught  Prascovia  many 
of  the  common  matters  of  education  becoming  her 
station.  Captain  Lopouloff  and  his  wife  had  been 
either  afraid  to  teach  their  daughter  anything  that 
would  recall  their  former  condition  in  life,  or  else 
had  become  too  dispirited  and  indifferent  for  the  ex- 
ertion, and  Prascovia  had  so  entirely  forgotten  all 
she  had  known  before  her  father's  banishment,  that 
she  had  to  learn  to  read  and  write  over  again.  She 
could  never  speak  of  Madame  Milin's  kindness 
without  tears,  but  the  comfort  and  ease  in  which  she 
now  lived,  made  her  all  the  more  distressed  at  the 
thought  of  her  parents  toiling  alone  among  the  pri- 
vations of  their  snowy  wilderness.     Madame  Milin, 


360  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

however,  would  not  allow  her  to  leave  Ekatherinen- 
burg  till  the  spring,  and  then  took  a  place  for  her  in 
a  barge  upon  the  river  Khama,  a  confluent  of  the 
Volga  ;  and  put  her  under  the  care  of  a  man  who 
was  going  to  Nishni  Novgorod,  with  a  cargo  of  iron 
and  salt. 

Unfortunately  this  person  fell  sick,  and  was 
obliged  to  be  left  behind  at  a  little  village  on  the 
banks  of  the  Khama,  and  Prascovia  was  again  left 
unprotected.  In  ascending  the  Volga,  the  barge 
was  towed  along  by  horses  on  the  bank,  and  in  a 
short,  sharp  storm,  the  boatmen,  in  endeavoring  to 
keep  the  barge  from  running  against  the  bank, 
pushed  Prascovia  and  two  other  passengers  over- 
board with  a  heavy  oar.  They  were  instantly  res- 
cued, but  there  was  no  privacy  in  the  barge,  and  as 
Prascovia  could  not  bear  to  undress  herself  in  pub- 
lic, her  wet  clothes  increased  the  former  injury  to 
her  health.  Madame  Milin,  trusting  to  the  person 
to  whom  she  had  confided  her  young  friend,  to  for- 
ward her  on  from  Novgorod,  had  given  her  no  intro- 
ductions to  any  one  there,  nor  any  directions  how  to 
proceed,  and  the  poor  girl  was  thus  again  cast  upon 
the  world  alone,  though,  thanks  to  her  kind  friend, 
with  rather  more  both  in  her  purse  and  in  her  bun- 
dle than  when  she  had  left  Ischim  ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  with  a  far  clearer  knowledge  of  the  dif- 
ficulties that  lay  before  her,  and  a  much  greater 
dread  of  cities. 

The  bargemen  set  her  ashore  at  the  foot  of  a 
bridge  at  the  usual  landing-place.  She  saw  a  church 
on  a  rising  ground  before  her,  and,  according  to  her 
usual  custom,  she  went  up  to  pray  there  before  go- 
ing to  seek  a  lodging.  The  building  was  empty,  but 
behind  a  grating  she  heard  the  voices  of  women  at 
their  evening  devotions.  It  was  a  nunnery,  and 
these  female  tones  refreshed  and  encouraged  her. 
"  If  God  grants  my  prayers,"  she  thought,  "  I  shall 


The  Petitioners  for  Pardon.  361 

hide  myself  under  such  a  veil  as  theirs,  for  I  shall 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  thank  and  praise  Him." 
After  the  service,  she  lingered  near  the  convent, 
dreading  to  expose  herself  to  the  rude  remarks  she 
might  meet  at  an  inn,  and  at  last,  reproaching  her- 
self for  this  failure  in  her  trust,  she  returned  into  the 
church  to  renew  her  prayers  for  faith  and  courage. 
One  of  the  nuns  who  had  remained  there  told  her  it 
was  time  to  close  the  doors,  and  Prascovia  ventured 
to  tell  her  of  her  repugnance  to  enter  an  inn  alone, 
and  to  beg  for  a  night's  shelter  in  the  convent.  The 
sister  replied  that  they  did  not  receive  travellers, 
but  that  the  abbess  might  give  her  some  assistance. 
Prascovia  showed  her  purse,  and  explained  that  the 
kind  friends  at  Ekatherinenburg  had  placed  her 
above  want,  and  that  all  she  needed  was  a  night's 
lodging ;  and  the  nun,  pleased  with  her  manner, 
took  her  to  the  abbess.  Her  artless  story,  sup- 
ported by  her  passport,  and  by  Madame  Milin's 
letters,  filled  the  good  sisterhood  with  excitement 
and  delight ;  the  abbess  made  her  sleep  in  her  own 
room,  and  finding  how  severely  she  was  suffering 
from  the  effects  of  her  fall  into  the  Volga,  insisted 
on  her  remaining  a  few  days  to  rest.  Before  those 
few  days  were  over,  Prascovia  was  seized  with  so 
dangerous  an  illness  that  the  physicians  themselves 
despaired  of  her  life  ;  but  even  at  the  worst  she 
never  gave  herself  up  ;  "  I  do  not  believe  my  hour 
is  come,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  God  will  allow  me  to 
finish  my  work."  And  she  did  recover,  though  so 
slowly  that  all  the  summer  passed  by  before  she 
could  continue  her  journey,  and  then  she  was  too 
weak  for  rough  posting  vehicles,  and  could  only 
wait  among  the  nuns  for  the  roads  to  be  fit  for 
sledges. 

At  last  she  set  off  again  for  Moscow  in  a  covered 
sledge,  with  a  letter  from  the  abbess  to  a  lady,  who 
sent  her  on  again  to  Petersburg,  under  the  care  of 


362  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

a  merchant,  with  a  letter  to  the  Princess  de  T , 

and  thus  at  length  she  arrived  at  the  end  of  her 
journey,  eighteen  months  after  she  had  set  off  from 
Ischim  with  her  rouble  and  her  staff.  The  merchant 
took  her  to  his  own  house,  but  before  he  had  found 
out  the  Princess,  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  Riga,  and 
his  wife,  though  courteous  and  hospitable,  did  not 
exert  herself  to  forward  the  cause  of  her  guest. 
She  tried  to  find  one  of  the  ladies  to  whom  she  had 
been  recommended,  but  the  house  was  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Neva,  and  as  it  was  now  February,  the 
ice  was  in  so  unsafe  a  state  that  no  one  was  allowed 
to  pass.  A  visitor  at  the  merchant's  advised  her  to 
get  a  petition  to  the  Senate  drawn  up,  begging  for  a 
revision  of  her  father's  trial,  and  offered  to  get  it 
drawn  up  for  her.  Accordingly,  day  after  day,  for  a 
whole  fortnight,  did  the  poor  girl  stand  on  the  steps 
of  the  Senate-house,  holding  out  her  petition  to 
every  one  whom  she  fancied  to  be  a  senator,  and 
being  sometimes  roughly  spoken  to,  sometimes 
waved  aside,  sometimes  offered  a  small  coin  as  a 
beggar,  but  never  attended  to.  Holy  Week  came 
on,  and  Prascovia's  devotions  and  supplications 
were  addressed  entirely  to  her  God.  On  Easter- 
day,  that  day  of  universal  joy,  she  was  unusually 
hopeful ;  she  went  out  with  her  hostess  in  the  car- 
riage, and  told  her  that  she  felt  a  certainty  that 
another  time  she  should  meet  with  success. 

"  I  would  trouble  myself  no  more  with  senates 
and  senators,"  said  the  lady.  "It  is  just  as  well 
worth  while  as  it  would  be  to  offer  your  petition  to 
yonder  iron  man,"  pointing  to  the  famous  statue  of 
Peter  the  Great. 

"  Well,"  said  Prascovia,  "  God  is  Almighty,  and  if 
He  would,  He  could  make  that  iron  man  stoop  and 
take  my  petition." 

The  lady  laughed  carelessly  ;  but  as  they  were 
looking  at  the  statue,  she  observed  that  the  bridge 


The  Petitioners  for  Pardon.  363 

of  boats  over  the  Neva  was  restored,  and  offered  to 
take  Prascovia  at  once  to  leave  her  letter  with  Mde. 
de  L .  They  found  this  lady  at  home,  and  al- 
ready prepared  to  expect  her ;  she  received  her 
most  kindly,  and  looked  at  the  petition,  which  she 
found  so  ignorantly  framed  and  addressed,  that  it 
was  no  wonder  that  it  had  not  been  attended  to. 
She  said  that  she  had  a  relation  high  in  office  in  the 
Senate  who  could  have  helped  Prascovia,  but  that 
unfortunately  they  were  not  on  good  terms. 

Easter-day,  however,  is  the  happy  occasion  when, 
in  the  Greek  Church,  all  reconciliations  are  made. 
Families  make  a  point  of  meeting  with  the  glorious 
greeting,  "  Christ  is  risen,"  and  the  reponse,  "  He  is 
risen  indeed";  and  the  kiss  exchanged  at  these 
glad  tidings  seals  general  pardon  for  all  the  bicker- 
ings of  the  year.  And  while  Prascovia  was  at  din- 
ner with  her  friends,  this  very  gentleman  came  in, 
with  the  accustomed  words,  and,  without  further 
delay,  she  was  introduced  to  him,  and  her  circum- 
stances explained.  He  took  great  interest  in  her, 
but  assured  her  that  applications  to  the  Senate  were 
useless  ;  for  even  if  she  should  prevail  to  have  the 
trial  revised,  it  would  be  a  tedious  and  protracted 
affair,  and  very  uncertain  ;  so  that  it  would  be  far 
better  to  trust  to  the  kind  disposition  of  the  Czar 
Alexander  himself. 

Prascovia  went  back  to  the  merchant's  greatly 
encouraged,  and  declaring  that,  after  all,  she  owed 
something  to  the  statue  of  Peter  the  Great,  for  but 
for  him  they  might  not  have  observed  that  the  Neva 
was  open  !  The  merchant  himself  now  returned 
from  Riga,  and  was  concerned  at  finding  her  affairs 
no  forwarder.     He  took  her  at  once  to  the  Princess 

de  T ,  a  very  old  lady,  who  received  her  kindly, 

and  let  her  remain  in  her  house  ;  but  it  was  full  of 
grand  company  and  card-playing,  and  the  Princess 
herself  was  so  aged  and  infirm,  that  she,  as  well  as 


364  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

all  her  guests,  forgot  all  about  the  j^oung  stranger, 
who,  with  a  heart  pining  with  hope  deferred,  meekly 
moved  about  the  house,  —  finding  that  every  open- 
ing of  promise  led  only  to  disappointment.  Still 
she  recollected  that  she  had  been  advised  to  present 

a  request  to  M.  V ,  one  of  the  secretaries  of  the 

Empress  Mary,  widow  of  the  last,  and  mother  of  the 
present  Czar.  With  this  she  went  to  his  house. 
He  had  heard  of  her,  but  fancying  her's  a  common 
case  of  poverty,  had  put  out  fifty  roubles  to  be  given 
to  her.  He  was  not  at  home  when  she  called  ;  but 
his  wife  saw  her,  was  delighted  with  her,  drew  from 
her  the  whole  history  of  her  perseverance  in  her 

father's  cause,  and  kept  her  to  see  M.  V .     He, 

too,  was  warmly  interested,  and  going  at  once  to  the 
Empress-mother,  who  was  one  of  the  most  gentle 
and  charitable  women  in  the  world,  he  brought  back 
her  orders  that  she  should  be  presented  to  the  Em- 
press that  very  evening. 

Poor  child,  she  turned  pale  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears  at  this  sudden  brightening  of  hope.  In- 
stead of  thanking  M.  V. ,  her  first  exclamation 

was,  "  My  God,  not  in  vain  have  I  put  my  trust  in 

Thee."     Then    kissing  Mme.  V 's  hands,   she 

cried,  "You,  you  alone  can  make  my  thanks  accept- 
able to  the  good  man  who  is  saving  my  father  !  " 

She  never  disturbed  herself  as  to  her  dress,  or 
any  matter  of  court  etiquette  :  her  simple  heart  was 

wrapped  up  in  its  one  strong  purpose.     Mme.  V ■ 

merely  arranged  the  dress  she  had  on,  and  sent  her 
oif  with  the  secretary.  When  she  really  saw  the 
palace  before  her,  she  said,  "  O,  if  my  father  could 
see  me,  how  glad  he  would  be.  My  God,  finish  Thy 
work  !  " 

The  Empress  Mary  was  a  tender-hearted  woman 
of  the  simplest  manners.  She  received  Prascovia 
in  her  private  room,  and  listened  most  kindly  to  her 
story  ;  then  praised  her  self-devotion  and  filial  love, 


The  Petitioners  for  Pardon.  365 

and  promised  to  speak  in  her  behalf  to  the  Empe- 
ror, —  giving  her  300  roubles  for  her  present  needs. 
Prascovia  was  so  much  overcome  by  her  kindness, 

that  when  afterwards  Mme.  V asked  how  she 

had  sped  in  her  interview,  she  could  only  weep  for 
gladness. 

Two  days  after,  the  Empress-mother  herself  took 
her  to  a  private  audience  of  the  Emperor  himself 
and  his  wife,  the  Empress  Elizabeth.  No  particu- 
lars are  given  of  this  meeting,  except  that  Prascovia 
was  most  graciously  received,  and  that  she  came 
away  with  a  gift  of  5,000  roubles,  and  the  promise 
that  her  father's  trial  should  be  at  once  revised. 

And  now  all  the  persons  who  had  scarcely  at- 
tended to  Prascovia  vied  with  each  other  in  making 
much  of  her ;  they  admired  her  face,  found  out  that 
she  had  the  stamp  of  high  birth,  and  invited  her  to 
their  drawing-rooms.  She  was  as  quiet  and  un- 
moved as  ever ;  she  never  thought  of  herself,  nor 
of  the  effect  she  produced,  but  went  on  in  her  sim- 
plicity, enjoying  all  that  was  kindly  meant.  Two 
ladies  took  her  to  see  the  state  apartments  of  the 
Imperial  palace.  When  they  pointed  to  the  throne, 
she  stopped  short,  exclaiming,  "  Is  that  the  throne  ? 
Then  that  is  what  I  dreaded  so  much  in  Siberia !  " 
And  as  all  her  past  hopes  and  fears,  her  dangers 
and  terrors,  rushed  on  her,  she  clasped  her  hands, 
and  exclaiming,  "The  Emperor's  throne  !  "  she  al- 
most fainted.  Then  she  begged  leave  to  draw  near, 
and,  kneeling  down,  she  kissed  the  steps,  of  which 
she  had  so  often  dreamt  as  the  term  of  her  labors, 
and  she  exclaimed  aloud,  "  Father,  father !  see 
whither  the  Divine  Power  has  led  me  !  My  God, 
bless  this  throne,  —  bless  him  who  sits  on  it, — 
make  him  as  happy  as  he  is  making  ma  !  "  The 
ladies  could  hardly  get  her  away  from  it,  and  she 
was  so  much  exhausted  by  the  strength  of  her  feel- 
ings, that  she  could  not  continue  her  course  of 
sight-seeing  all  that  day. 


366  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

She  did  not  forget  the  two  fellow-exiles  who  had 
been  so  kind  to  her  ;  she  mentioned  them  to  every- 
one, but  was  always  advised  not  to  encumber  her 
suit  for  her  father  by  mentioning  them.  However, 
when,  after  some  delay,  she  received  notice  that  a 
ukase  had  been  issued  for  her  father's  pardon,  and 
was  further  told  that  His  Majesty  wished  to  know  if 
she  had  anything  to  ask  for  herself,  she  replied  that 
he  would  overwhelm  her  with  his  favors  if  he  would 
extend  the  same  mercy  that  he  had  granted  to  her 
father  to  these  two  poor  old  banished  gentlemen  ;  and 
the  Emperor,  struck  by  this  absence  of  all  selfishness, 
readily  pardoned  them  for  their  offence,  which  had 
been  of  a  political  nature,  and  many  years  old. 

Prascovia  had  always  intended  to  dedicate  her- 
self as  a  nun,  believing  that  this  would  be  her  fullest 
thank-offering  for  her  father's  pardon,  and  her  heart 
was  drawn  towards  the  convent  at  Nishni,  where 
she  had  been  so  tenderly  nursed  during  her  illness. 
First,  however,  she  went  to  Kief,  the  place  where 
the  first  Christian  teaching  in  Russia  had  begun, 
and  where  the  tombs  of  St.  Olga,  the  pious  queen, 
and  Vladimir,  the  destroyer  of  idols,  were  objects 
of  pilgrimage.  There  she  took  the  monastic  vows, 
a  step  which  seems  surprising  in  so  dutiful  a  daugh- 
ter, without  her  parents'  consent ;  but  she  seems  to 
have  thought  that  only  thus  could  her  thankfulness 
be  evinced,  and  to  have  supposed  herself  fulfilling 
the  vows  she  had  made  in  her  distress.  From  Kief 
she  returned  to  Nishni,  where  she  hoped  to  meet 
her  parents.  She  had  reckoned  that  about  the  time 
of  her  arrival  they  might  be  on  their  way  back  from 
Siberia,  and  as  soon  as  she  met  the  abbess,  she  ea- 
gerly asked  if  there  were  no  tidings  of  them.  "  Ex- 
cellent tidings,"  said  the  abbess.  "  I  will  tell  you 
in  my  rooms."  Prascovia  followed  her  in  silence, 
until  they  reached  the  reception-room,  and  there 
stood  her  father  and  mother  !     Their  first  impulse 


The  Petitioners  for  Pardon.  367 

on  seeing  the  daughter  who  had  done  so  much  for 
them,  was  to  fall  on  their  knees  ;  but  she  cried  out 
with  dismay,  and  herself  kneeling,  exclaimed,  "  What 
are  you  doing?  It  is  God,  God  only,  who  worked 
for  us.  Thanks  be  to  His  providence  for  the  won- 
ders He  has  wrought  in  our  favor." 

For  one  week  the  parents  and  child  were  happy 
together  ;  but  then  Captain  Lopouloff  and  his  wife 
were  forced  to  proceed  on  their  journey.  The  rest 
of  Prascovia's  life  was  one  long  decline,  her  health 
had  been  fatally  injured  by  the  sufferings  that  she 
had  undergone  ;  and  though  she  lived  some  years, 
and  saw  her  parents  again,  she  was  gently  fading 
away  all  the  time.  She  made  one  visit  to  Peters- 
burg, and  one  of  those  who  saw  her  there  described 
her  as  having  a  fine  oval  face,  extremely  black  eyes, 
an  open  brow,  and  a  remarkable  calmness  of  expres- 
sion, though  with  a  melancholy  smile.  It  is  curious 
that  Scott  has  made  this  open-browed  serenity  of 
expression  a  characteristic  of  his  Jeanie   Deans. 

Prascovia's  illness  ended  suddenly  on  the  9th  of 
December,  1809.  She  had  been  in  church  on  that 
same  morning,  and  was  lying  on  her  bed,  with  the 
sisters  talking  round  her,  when  they  observed  that 
they  were  tiring  her.  They  went  away  for  one  of 
their  hours  of  prayer,  leaving  one,  who  began  to 
chant  the  devotions  aloud,  but  Prascovia  begged  her 
to  read  instead  of  singing,  as  the  voice  disturbed  her 
prayers.  Still  she  did  not  complain,  and  they  left 
her  at  night  without  alarm,  but  in  the  morning  they 
found  her  in  her  last  long  sleep,  her  hands  forming 
the  sign  of  the  cross. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  BLENTARN  GHYLL. 

1807. 

BLENTARN  GHYLL  is  the  name  of  a  little 
narrow  gorge  in  those  Westmoreland  moun- 
tains, called  Langdale  Pikes,  at  whose  feet  lie  the 
lovely  green  vale  and  lake  of  Grasmere.  The  lake 
is  fed  by  mountain  streamlets,  called  in  the  north 
becks.  One  of  these  becks  comes  down  another 
beautiful  valley  called  Easedale,  sheltered  by  moun- 
tains and  green  with  grass,  as  smooth  and  soft  as  on 
a  lawn,  from  being  cropped  short  by  the  sheep, 
which  can  be  turned  out  here  earlier  in  the  spring 
than  on  the  other  mountain-sides.  At  one  end, 
Easedale  opens  on  the  village  of  Grasmere,  at  the 
other  is  a  steep  ascent,  leading  to  a  bare  stony  ra- 
vine, shut  in  on  all  sides  by  high  mountains,  and 
with  no  outlet  except  the  rough  descent  into  Ease- 
dale,  and  likewise  a  dangerous  winding  path  about 
six  miles  over  the  mountains  to  Langdale  Head. 
This  lonely  ravine  is  called  Far  Easedale,  and  at  the 
upper  end  there  formerly  stood  a  cottage  named 
Blentarn  Ghyll.  Ghyll  means  a  cleft  worn  in  the 
rock  by  water  ;  and  just  above  the  cottage  there  is 
such  a  cleft,  opening  from  a  basin  in  the  rock  that 
must  once  have  been  a  tarn,  or  mountain  lakelet, 
but  the  pool  is  now  dry,  and  for  want  of  the  living 
eve  of  sparkling  water,  it  is  termed  Blentarn  or 
Blind  pool. 

The  cottage  was  the  dwelling  of  an  honest  old 


The  Children  of  Blentarn  Ghyll.  369 

soldier  named  George  Green,  who  had  taken  the  lit- 
tle mountain  farm,  and  married  an  active,  bustling- 
woman,  who  kept  her  home  in  great  order,  and  reg- 
ularly sent  her  children,  tidily  dressed,  to  school  at 
Grasmere,  whenever  the  weather  did  not  make  the 
long,  wild  mountain  walk  impossible  for  them. 

It  was  in  the  winter  of  the  year  1807  that  there 
was  an  auction  of  furniture  at  a  farm-house  at  Lang- 
dale  Head.  These  sales  are  great  occasions  among 
the  people  of  these  hills  ;  every  one  attends  them 
for  a  considerable  distance  round,  and  there  is  much 
friendly  hospitality,  much  business  of  all  sorts  trans- 
acted, and  many  meetings  of  old  friends,  who  scarcely 
ever  see  each  other  at  other  times.  To  this  gather- 
ing George  and  Sarah  Green  set  off  early  in  the 
forenoon  of  a  bright  winter  day,  leaving  their  cottage 
and  six  little  ones  in  the  charge  of  the  eldest  sister, 
a  girl  of  nine  years  old,  named  Agnes,  for  they  had 
neither  indoor  nor  outdoor  servant,  and  no  neighbor 
nearer  than  Grasmere. 

Little  Agnes  was,  however,  a  remarkably  steady 
and  careful  child,  and  all  went  well  through  the  day, 
but  towards  night  the  mist  settled  down  heavily  upon 
the  hills,  and  the  heavy  sighing  in  the  air  told  that 
a  storm  was  working  up  ;  the  children  watched  anx- 
iously for  their  parents,  but  the  fog  cut  off  their  view, 
flakes  of  snow  began  to  fall,  and  darkness  closed  in 
early  on  them. 

Agnes  gave  the  others  their  supper  of  milk  and 
oatmeal  porridge,  and  they  sat  down  waiting  and 
watching,  and  fancying  they  heard  sounds  in  the 
hills  ;  but  the  clock  struck  one  hour  after  another, 
and  no  step  was  on  the  threshold,  no  hand  at  the 
latch,  no  voice  at  the  door,  only  the  white  silent 
flakes  fell  thicker  and  thicker,  and  began  to  close 
up  the  door,  and  come  in  white  clinging  wreaths 
through  the  crevices  of  the  windows.  Agnes  tried 
to  cheer  the  others  up,  but  there  was  a  dread  on 
24 


370  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

them  all,  and  they  could  not  bear  to  move  away  from 
the  peat  fire  on  the  hearth,  round  which  they  were 
nestled.  She  put  the  two  youngest,  who  were  twins, 
to  bed  in  their  cradle,  and  sat  on  with  the  others, 
two  boys  and  another  girl,  named  Catherine,  till  the 
clock  struck  twelve,  when  she  heard  them  one  by 
one  say  their  prayers,  and  doing  the  same  herself, 
lay  down  to  rest,  trusting  to  her  Heavenly  Father's 
care. 

The  morning  came,  and  no  father  or  mother  ;  only 
the  snow  falling  thicker  than  ever,  and  almost  block- 
ing them  in  ;  but  still  Agnes  did  not  lose  hope  ;  she 
thought  her  father  and  mother  might  have  taken 
shelter  at  night  in  some  bield,  as  she  would  have 
termed  a  sheepfold,  or  that  the  snow  might  have 
prevented  them  from  setting  out  at  all,  and  they 
might  come  home  by  Grasmere  in  the  morning. 
She  cheered  herself  up,  and  dressed  the  others, 
made  them  say  their  prayers,  and  gave  them  their 
breakfast,  recollecting  as  she  saw  the  lessening 
stores  that  her  mother  must  know  how  little  was 
provided  for  them,  and  be  as  anxious  to  get  home 
as  they  were  to  see  her  there.  She  longed  to  go 
down  to  Grasmere  to  inquire  ;  but  the  communi- 
cation was  entirely  cut  off  by  the  snow,  for  the  beck 
was,  in  the  winter,  too  wide  for  a  child  to  leap,  and 
too  rapid  to  be  waded,  and  the  crazy  wooden  bridge 
that  crossed  it  had  so  large  a  hole  in  it,  that,  when 
concealed  with  snow,  it  was  not  safe  to  attempt  the 
passage.  She  said  afterwards  that  she  could  not 
help  being  terrified  at  the  loneliness  and  desolate- 
ness,  but  that  she  recollected  that  at  least  if  she 
could  not  get  out,  no  bad  men  could  get  in  to  hurt 
them  ;  and  she  set  herself  resolutely  to  comfort  and 
help  the  lesser  creatures  who  depended  on  her.  She 
thought  over  all  that  could  be  done  for  the  present, 
and  first  wound  up  the  clock,  a  friend  that  she  could 
not  allow  to  be  silent ;  next  she  took  all  the  remain- 


The  Children  of  Blentarn  Ghyll.  371 

ing  milk  and  scalded  it,  to  prevent  it  turning  sour ; 
then  she  looked  into  the  meal  chest,  and  made  some 
porridge  for  breakfast,  but  the  store  was  so  low  that 
she  was  forced  to  put  all  except  the  babies  upon 
short  allowance  ;  but  to  reconcile  the  others  to  this, 
she  made  cakes  of  a  small  hoard  of  flour,  and  baked 
them  on  the  hearth.  It  was  snowing  so  fast  that 
she  feared  that  the  way  to  the  peat  stack  would  be 
blocked  up,  and  therefore  her  next  work  was,  with 
the  help  of  the  two  boys,  to  pull  down  as  much  fuel 
as  would  last  for  a  week,  and  carry  it  in-doors  ;  and 
she  examined  the  potatoes  laid  up  in  bracken  leaves, 
but  fancying  that  if  she  brought  them  in,  the  warmth 
of  the  cottage  would  spoil  them,  she  only  took 
enough  for  a  single  meal.  Milking  the  cow  was 
the  next  office  performed  by  this  orderly  little  maid, 
but  the  poor  thing  was  half  starved  and  had  little  to 
give.  Agnes  saw  that  more  hay  must  be  given  to 
her,  and  calling  the  boys,  scrambled  with  them  into 
the  loft,  and  began  to  pull  down  the  hay ;  but  this 
was  severe  work  for  such  young  children,  and  dark- 
ness came  on  in  the  midst,  frightening  the  two  little 
fellows,  so  that  it  required  all  the  sister's  steady 
resolution  and  perseverance  to  finish  supplying  the 
poor  cow  with  even  that  night's  supper  and  bed. 
Supper  time  came,  and  after  it  the  motherly  child 
undressed  the  twins,  and  found  voice  to  sing  them 
to  sleep,  after  which  she  joined  the  huddle  of  the 
other  three,  nestled  on  the  hearth,  and  hour  after 
hour  they  listened  for  the  dear  voices,  till  they  fan- 
cied they  heard  sounds  on  the  howling  blast,  held 
their  breath,  and  then  as  it  died  away,  were  con- 
scious of  the  silence  of  the  lull.  So  fierce  was  the 
snow-drift  that  Agnes  had  to  guard  the  door  and 
window  from  admitting  long  wreaths  of  it,  and  pro- 
tect the  fire  from  being  put  out  as  it  came  hissing 
down  the  chimney.  Again  her  watch  lasted  till 
midnight,  and  no  parents,  no  help  came  ;  again  she 


372  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

went  to  bed,  and  awoke  to  find  the  snow  falling 
thicker  than  ever,  and  hope  failing  within  her.  Her 
fond,  active  mother,  her  strong,  brave  father,  a  noted 
climber,  would  surely  long  ago  have  found  the  way 
home  to  their  children  had  all  been  well  with  them. 
Agnes  described  herself  as  getting  through  this  third 
lonely  day  by  keeping  her  little  flock  together  on 
the  hearth,  and  making  them  say  their  prayers  aloud 
by  turns. 

By  the  following  morning  the  snow  was  over,  and 
the  wind  had  changed,  so  sweeping  away  the  drifts, 
that  though  the  treacherous  bridge  might  not  be  at- 
tempted, a  low  stone  wall  had  been  exposed,  which 
these  little  mountaineers  knew  would  serve  as  a 
guide  into  Grasmere,  by  a  circuit,  which  would 
avoid  crossing  the  brook.  It  would  be  needful  to 
force  some  gaps,  that  is,  to  push  down  the  loose 
stones  of  the  uncemented  stone  walls  that  divided 
the  fields,  and  the  little  boys  came  with  Agnes  to 
help  her  in  this  as  far  as  the  ridge  of  the  hill ;  but 
the  way  was  long  and  unsafe  for  small  children,  and 
Agnes  sent  them  back,  while  she  made  her  way 
alone,  a  frail  little  being  in  the  vast  slopes  of  snow, 
to  the  house  nearest  in  Grasmere. 

She  knocked  at  the  door  and  was  made  kindly 
welcome,  but  no  sooner  did  she  ask  for  her  father 
and  mother  than  smiles  turned  to  looks  of  pity  and 
dismay.  In  half  an  hour  the  news  that  George  and 
Sarah  Green  were  missing  had  spread  through  the 
valley,  and  sixty  strong  men  had  met  at  Kirktown, 
the  hamlet  close  to  the  parish  church,  to  seek  for 
them.  The  last  that  was  known  of  them  was,  that, 
after  the  auction,  some  of  their  friends  had  advised 
them  not  to  try  the  dangerous  path  so  late  ;  but 
when  they  had  gone  no  one  knew.  Some  of  the 
people  of  Langdale  likewise  had  heard  wild  shrieks 
at  midnight  on  the  night  after  the  sale,  but  had  fan- 
cied them  merely  the  moans  of  the  wind. 


The  Children  of  Blent  ant  Ghyll.  373 

One  day  after  another  the  search  continued,  but 
still  in  vain.  The  neighbors  patiently  gave  up  their 
work  day  after  day  to  turn  over  the  deep  snow 
around  the  path  from  Langdale,  but  for  three  — 
or  some  say  five  —  days  no  trace  of  them  was  found. 
At  last  dogs  were  used,  and  guided  the  seekers  far 
away  from  the  path,  until  a  loud  shout  from  the  top 
of  a  steep  precipice  told  that  the  lost  was  found. 
There  lay  Sarah  Green,  wrapped  in  her  husband's 
great-coat,  of  course  quite  dead,  and  at  the  foot  of 
the  rock  his  body  was  found,  in  a  posture  that 
seemed  to  show  that  he  had  been  killed  by  the  fall 
without  a  struggle.  The  neighbors  thought  that  the 
mist  and  snow  must  have  bewildered  them  till  they 
had  wandered  thus  far  in  the  darkness,  and  that 
George  had  been  making  a  few  steps  forward  to 
make  out  the  road  when  the  fall  took  place,  but  that 
his  wife  had  very  possibly  been  unconscious  of  his 
fall,  and  stood  still  where  he  had  left  her,  uttering 
those  sad  cries  that  had  been  so  little  regarded  at 
Langdale,  until  she  was  unable  to  move  and  was  be- 
numbed by  the  sleep  of  cold.  Those  who  knew 
them  best,  thought  that  the  poor  woman's  grief  and 
terror  for  her  lonely  little  ones  had  probably  so 
overpowered  her  as  to  disturb  her  husband's  cool- 
ness and  presence  of  mind,  and  that  if  he  had  been 
alone,  he  would  probably  have  easily  saved  himself. 
The  brave  little  girl,  keeping  her  patient  watch  and 
guard  over  the  five  younger  ones,  and  setting  out 
on  her  lonely  way  through  the  snow,  must  have  had 
more  of  the  spirit  of  her  soldier-father  than  of  her 
mother.  It  was  to  Dorothy  Wordsworth,  the  sister 
of  the  poet,  that  little  Agnes  was  persuaded  to  tell 
the  history  of  this  calm,  resolute,  trustful,  waiting- 
time,  which,  simple  as  it  is,  we  think  our  readers 
will  own  as  truly  worthy  to  be  counted  among  Gol- 
den Deeds.  The  father  and  mother  were  buried  on 
a  lovely  spring  day  at  St.  Oswald's  Churchyard  at 
Kirktown,  and  Wordsworth  wrote  :  — 


374  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

"  Now  do  these  sternly-featured  hills 
Look  gently  on  this  grave, 
And  quiet  now  the  depths  of  air 
As  sea  without  a  wave. 

"  But  deeper  lies  the  heart  of  peace, 
In  quiet  more  profound  ; 
The  heart  of  quietness  is  here, 
Within  this  churchyard  bound. 

"  And  from  all  agony  of  mind 
It  keeps  them  safe,  and  far 
From  fear,  and  grief,  and  from  all  need 
Of  sun  or  guiding  star." 

After  the  funeral,  the  farm  folk  of  the  neighbor- 
hood were  all  pressing  forward  to  beg  to  adopt  one 
or  other  of  the  little  orphans.  The  twins  were  kept 
together,  Catherine  was  taken  by  the  Wordsworth 
family,  Agnes  and  her  brothers  found  separate  but 
comfortable  homes  among  their  parents'  friends. 
Help  came  pouring  in.  Queen  Charlotte  and  her 
daughters  were  greatly  touched  by  the  mountain 
child's  tender  motherliness,  and  sent  a  handsome 
donation  for  the  benefit  of  the  orphans,  and  so  many 
subscriptions  were  offered,  that  at  last  Miss  Words- 
worth declined  receiving  any  more,  lest  the  children 
should  be  injured  by  having  too  much  wealth  for 
the  station  to  wThich  tfyey  were  growing  up. 


AGOSTINA   OF   ZARAGOZA. 


ONE  of  the  most  unjustifiable  acts  of  Napoleon's 
grasping  policy  was  the  manner  in  which  he 
entrapped  the  poor,  foolish,  weak  Spanish  royal 
family  into  his  power,  and  then  kept  them  in  cap- 
tivity, and  gave  their  kingdom  to  his  brother  Joseph. 
The  whole  Spanish  people  were  roused  to  resistance 
by  this  atrocious  transfer,  and  the  whole  of  the  peas- 
antry rose  as  one  man  to  repel  this  shameful  aggres- 
sion. A  long  course  of  bad  government  had  done 
much  to  destroy  the  vigor  of  the  nation,  and  as  sol- 
diers in  the  open  field  they  were  utterly  worthless  ; 
but  still  there  were  high  qualities  of  patience  and 
perseverance  among  them,  and  these  were  never 
more  fully  shown  than  in  their  defence  of  Zaragoza, 
the  ancient  capital  of  the  kingdom  of  Aragon. 

This  city  stands  in  an  open  plain,  covered  with 
olive-grounds,  and  closed  in  by  high  mountains. 
About  a  mile  to  the  southwest  of  the  city  was  some 
high  ground  called  the  Torrero,  upon  which  stood  a 
convent,  and  close  beside  the  city  flowed  the  Ebro, 
crossed  by  two  bridges,  one  of  which  was  made  of 
wood,  and  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  specimen 
of  the  kind  of  fabric  in  Europe.  The  water  is  of  a 
dirty  red,  but  grows  clear  when  it  has  stood  long 
enough,  and  is  then  excellent  to  drink.  There  were 
no  regular  fortifications,  only  a  brick  wall,  ten  or 


376  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

twelve  feet  high,  and  three  feet  thick,  and  often  en- 
croached upon  by  houses.  Part  of  it  was,  however, 
of  old  Roman  workmanship,  having  been  built  under 
Augustus,  by  whom  the  town  was  called  Caesarea 
Augusta,  a  name  since  corrupted  into  Zaragoza  (both 
.sr's  pronounced  as  softly  as  possible).  Four  of  the 
twelve  gates  were  in  this  old  wall,  which  was  so  well 
built  as  to  put  to  shame  all  the  modern  buildings 
and  their  bad  bricks.  These  were  the  material  of 
even  the  churches  and  convents,  all  alike  with  the 
houses,  and  so  bad  was  the  construction  that  there 
were  cracks  in  most  of  the  buildings  from  top  to 
bottom.  The  houses  were  generally  three  stories 
high,  the  streets  very  narrow  and  crooked,  except 
one  wide  and  long  one,  called  sometimes  the  Calle 
Santa,  sometimes  the  Cozo.  Zaragoza  was  highly 
esteemed  as  the  first  seat  of  Christianity  in  Spain ; 
indeed,  legend  declared  that  St.  James  the  Great 
had  preached  there,  and  had  beheld  a  vision  of  the 
blessed  Virgin,  standing  upon  a  marble  pillar,  and 
bidding  him  there  build  a  church  in  honor  of  her. 
The  pillar  was  the  great  object  of  veneration  in  Ara- 
gon,  and  there  was  a  double  cathedral,  with  service 
performed  alternately  in  the  two  parts.  So  much 
venerated  was  our  Lady  of  the  Pillar,  that  Pilar  be- 
came a  girl's  name  in  the  surrounding  country,  and 
this  was  the  centre  of  pilgrimages  to  the  Aragonese, 
as  St.  James's  shrine  at  Compostella  was  to  the  Cas- 
tilians.  As  is  well  said  by  Southey,  in  the  fiery  trial 
of  the  Zaragozans,  "  the  dross  and  tinsel  of  their 
faith  disappeared,  and  its  pure  gold  remained."  The 
inhabitants  appeared,  like  most  Spaniards  since  the 
blight  of  Philip  II.'s  policy  had  fallen  on  them,  dull, 
apathetic  beings,  too  proud  and  indolent  for  exer- 
tion, the  men  smoking  cigaritos  at  their  doors,  the 
women  only  coming  out  with  black  silk  mantillas 
over  their  heads  to  go  to  church.  The  French,  on 
first  seizing  it,  with  the  rest  of  Spain,  thought  it  the 


Agostina  of  Zaragoza.  277 

dullest  place  they  had  ever  yet  entered,  and  greatly 
despised  the  inhabitants. 

General  Lefebvre  Desnouettes  was  sent  to  quiet 
the  insurrection  against  the  French  in  Aragon  ;  and 
on  the  13th  and  14th  of  June,  1808,  he  easily  routed 
the  bodies  of  Spaniards  who  tried  to  oppose  him. 
The  flying  Spanish  troops  were  pursued  into  Zara- 
goza by  the  French  cavalry,  but  here  the  inhabit- 
ants were  able  from  their  houses  to  drive  back  the 
enemy.  Don  Jose  Palafox,  a  Spanish  nobleman, 
who  had  been  equerry  to  the  king,  took  the  com- 
mand of  the  garrison,  who  were  only  220  soldiers, 
and  endeavored  to  arm  the  inhabitants,  about  60,000 
in  number,  and  all  full  of  the  most  determined  spirit 
of  resistance  to  the  invaders.  He  had  only  sixteen 
cannon  and  a  few  muskets,  but  fowling-pieces  were 
collected,  and  pikes  were  forged  by  all  the  smiths  in 
the  town. 

The  siege  began  on  the  27th  of  June.  The 
French  army  was  in  considerable  force,  and  had  a 
great  supply  of  mortars  and  battering  cannon  ;  such 
as  could  by  their  shells  and  shot  rend  the  poor  brick 
city  from  end  to  end.  The  Torrero  quickly  fell  into 
their  hands,  and  from  that  height  there  was  a  con- 
stant discharge  of  those  terrible  shells  and  grenades 
that  burst  in  pieces  where  they  fall,  and  carry 
destruction  everywhere.  Not  one  building  within 
the  city  could  withstand  them,  and  they  were  fired, 
not  at  the  walls,  but  into  the  town.  All  that  could 
be  done  was  to  place  beams  slanting  against  the 
houses,  so  that  there  might  be  a  shelter  under  them 
from  the  shells.  The  awnings  that  sheltered  the 
windows  from  the  summer  sun  were  taken  down, 
sewn  up  into  sacks,  and  filled  with  earth,  then  piled 
up  before  the  gates,  with  a  deep  trench  dug  before 
them ;  the  houses  on  the  walls  were  pulled  down, 
and  every  effort  made  to  strengthen  the  defences, 
the  whole  of  the  lately  quiet,  lazy  population  toiling 


378  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

earnestly  together,  in  the  midst  of  the  deadly 
shower  that  was  always  falling  from  the  Torrero, 
and  striking  down  numbers  as  they  worked. 

The  same  spirit  animated  every  one.  The  Coun- 
tess Burita,  a  beautiful  young  lady,  formed  the 
women  into  an  organized  company  for  carrying 
wine,  water,  and  food  to  the  soldiers  on  guard,  and 
relieving  the  wounded,  and  throughout  the  whole 
siege  her  courage  and  perseverance  never  failed  ; 
she  was  continually  seen  in  the  places  most  ex- 
posed to  the  enemy's  fire,  bringing  help  and  re- 
freshment wherever  she  appeared  among  the  hard- 
pressed  warriors.  The  nuns  became  nurses  to  the 
sick  and  wounded,  and  made  cartridges,  which 
were  carried  to  the  defenders  by  the  children  of  the 
place.  The  monks  attended  the  sick  and  dying,  or 
else  bore  arms,  feeling  that  this,  —  the  cause  of 
their  country,  their  king,  and  their  faith,  —  had  be- 
come to  them  a  holy  war.  Thus  men,  women,  and 
children  alike  seemed  full  of  the  same  loyal  spirit ; 
but  some  traitor  must  have  been  among  them,  for 
on  the  night  of  the  28th,  the  powder  magazine  in 
the  centre  of  the  town  was  blown  up,  destroying 
fourteen  houses  and  killing  200  people.  At  the 
same  time,  evidently  prepared  to  profit  by  the  con- 
fusion thus  caused,  the  French  appeared  before 
three  of  the  gates,  and  a  dreadful  fire  began  from 
the  Torrero,  shells  bursting  everywhere  among  the 
citizens,  who  were  striving  in  the  dark  to  dig  their 
friends  out  of  the  ruined  houses. 

The  worst  of  the  attack  was  at  the  gate  called 
Portillo,  and  lasted  the  whole  day.  The  sand-bag 
defence  was  frequently  destroyed  by  the  fire,  and  as 
often  renewed  under  this  dreadful  shot  by  the  un- 
daunted Spaniards.  So  dreadful  was  the  carnage, 
that  at  one  moment  every  man  of  the  defenders  lay 
dead.  At  that  moment  one  of  the  women  who 
were  carrying  refreshments  came  up.     Her  name 


Agostina  of  Zaragoza.  379 

was  Agostina  Zaragoza ;  she  was  a  fine-looking 
woman  of  two-and-twenty,  and  was  full  of  a  deter- 
mined spirit.  She  saw  the  citizens  hesitate  to  step 
forward  to  man  the  defences  where  certain  death 
awaited  them.  Springing  forward,  she  caught  the 
match  from  the  hand  of  a  dead  gunner,  fired  his 
twenty-six  pounder,  and  seating  herself  on  it,  de- 
clared it  her  charge  for  the  rest  of  the  siege.  And 
she  kept  her  word.  She  was  the  heroine  of  the 
siege  where  all  were  heroines.  She  is  generally 
called  the  Maid  of  Zaragoza,  but  she  seems  to  have 
been  the  widow  of  one  of  the  artillerymen,  who  was 
here  killed,  and  that  she  continued  to  serve  his  gun, 
—  not  solely  as  a  patriot,  but  because  she  thus  ob- 
tained a  right  to  provisions  for  her  little  children, 
who  otherwise  might  have  starved  in  the  famine 
that  began  to  prevail.  If  this  lessens  the  romance, 
it  seems  to  us  to  add  to  the  beauty  and  womanli- 
ness of  Agostina's  character,  that  for  the  sake  of 
her  children  she  should  have  run  into  the  hottest  of 
the  peril,  and  taken  up  the  task  in  which  her  hus- 
band had  died. 

Her  readiness  in  that  critical  moment  saved  the 
Portillo  for  that  time,  but  the  attacks  were  renewed 
again  and  again  with  equal  fury  and  fearful  blood- 
shed. The  French  general  had  fancied  that  he 
could  easily  take  such  an  unfortified  place,  and  find- 
ing it  so  difficult,  had  lost  his  temper,  and  was  thus 
throwing  away  his  men's  lives  ;  but  after  several 
such  failures,  he  began  to  invest  the  city  regularly. 
Gunpowder  was  failing  the  besieged  until  they  sup- 
plied its  place  by  wonderful  ingenuity.  All  the  sul- 
phur in  the  place  was  collected,  nitre  was  obtained 
by  washing  it  out  of  the  soil  of  the  streets,  and 
charcoal  by  charring  the  stalks  of  the  very  large 
variety  of  hemp  that  grows  in  that  part  of  Spain. 
At  the  end  of  forty-six  days  the  city  was  entirely 
surrounded,  provisions  were  falling  short,  and  there 


380  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

was  not  a  single  place  safe  from  the  shot  and  shell. 
On  the  2d  of  August,  a  hospital  caught  fire,  and  the 
courage  of  the  women  was  again  shown  by  their 
exertions  in  carrying  out  the  sick  and  wounded  from 
the  flames  in  spite  of  the  continued  shot  from  the 
enemy's  batteries  ;  indeed,  throughout  the  siege  the 
number  of  women  and  boys  who  were  killed  was 
quite  as  great  in  proportion  as  that  of  men  ;  the  only 
difficulty  was  to  keep  them  from  running  needlessly 
into  danger. 

On  the  4th  of  August,  the  French  opened  a  bat- 
tery within  pistol-shot  of  the  gate  called  after  the 
great  Convent  of  St.  Engracia.  The  mud  walls 
were  levelled  at  the  first  discharge,  and  after  a  dead- 
ly struggle  the  besiegers  forced  their  way  into  the 
convent,  and  before  the  end  of  the  day  had  gained 
all  that  side  of  the  city,  up  to  the  main  central 
street,  the  Cozo.  General  Lefebvre  thought  all  was 
now  over  with  his  enemies,  and  summoned  Palafox 
to  surrender,  in  a  note  containing  only  these  words  : 
"  Head-quarters,  St.  Engracia.  Capitulation."  The 
answer  he  received  was  equally  brief :  "  Head-quar- 
ters, Zaragoza.     War  to  the  knife." 

There  they  were.  A  street  about  as  wide  as  Pall- 
Mail  was  all  that  lay  between  besiegers  and  besieged, 
to  whom  every  frail  brick  house  had  become  a  for- 
tress, while  the  openings  of  the  narrow  cross  streets 
were  piled  up  with  sand-bags  to  form  batteries. 
Soon  the  space  was  heaped  with  dead  bodies,  either 
killed  on  the  spot  or  thrown  from  the  windows,  and 
this  was  enough  to  breed  a  pestilence  among  the 
survivors.  The  French  let  them  lie,  knowing  that 
such  a  disease  would  be  the  surest  destruction  to 
the  garrison,  and  they  fired  on  the  Spaniards  when- 
ever they  ventured  out  to  bury  them.  Upon  this 
Palafox  devised  tying  ropes  to  his  French  prisoners, 
and  driving  them  out  to  bring  in  the  corpses  for 
burial.     The   enemy  would  not  fire   on   their  own 


Agostina  of  Zaragoza.  3S1 

countrymen,  and  thus  this  danger  was  lessened,  al- 
though not  entirely  removed,  and  sickness  as  well  as 
famine  was  added  to  the  misery  of  the  brave  Ara- 
gonese.  The  manufactory  of  powder,  too,  could  no 
longer  be  carried  on,  but  happily  Don  Francisco, 
the  brother  of  Palafox,  was  able  to  make  his  way 
into  the  city  with  3,000  men,  and  a  convoy  of  arms 
and  ammunition.  Padre  Santiago  Sass,  the  curate 
of  one  of  the  parishes  of  Zaragoza,  showed  him- 
self one  of  the  bravest  of  all  the  brave,  fighting  at 
every  hazardous  point,  and  at  other  times  moving 
about  among  the  sick  and  dying  to  give  them  the 
last  rites  of  the  Church.  No  one's  heart  failed  in 
that  eleven  days  of  one  continual  battle  from  house 
to  house,  from  room  to  room,  when  the  nights  were 
times  of  more  dreadful  conflict  than  the  days.  Of- 
ten, under  cover  of  the  darkness,  a  party  would  rush 
across  to  seize  a  battery  ;  and  once  a  Spaniard  made 
his  way  under  cover  of  the  corpses,  which  filled  the 
whole  space  between  the  combatants,  and  fastened 
a  rope  to  one  of  the  French  guns.  It  had  almost 
been  dragged  across  the  street,  and  was  only  lost  by 
the  breaking  of  the  rope. 

On  the  8th  of  August,  the  Spaniards  agreed  that 
if  they  could  not  hold  their  ground  in  the  city,  they 
must  retire  across  the  Ebro,  break  down  the  bridge, 
and  defend  the  suburbs  as  they  had  defended  the 
streets.  Only  an  eighth  part  of  their  city  now  re- 
mained to  them  ;  and  on  the  night  of  the  13th  the 
enemy's  fire  was  more  destructive  and  constant 
than  ever.  The  great  Convent  of  St.  Engracia  was 
blown  up,  the  whole  of  the  French  part  of  the  city 
glared  with  flaming  houses,  the  climax  of  the  hor- 
rors of  the  siege  seemed  to  be  come  !  But  the 
reports  of  the  batteries  gradually  ceased,  and,  with 
the  early  morning  light,  the  garrison  beheld  the 
road  to  Pamplona  filled  with  French  troops  in  full 
retreat. 


382  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

In  effect,  intelligence  had  been  received  of  re- 
verses to  the  invaders,  and  of  extended  movements 
among  the  Spaniards,  which  had  led  the  French  to 
decide  on  quitting  Zaragoza  ere  these  desperate  de- 
fenders should  be  reinforced  by  the  army  which  was 
collecting  to  relieve  them. 

Their  fortitude  had  won  the  day.  The  carnage 
had  ended,  and  it  remained  for  them  to  clear  their 
streets  from  the  remains  of  the  deadly  strife,  and 
to  give  thanks  for  their  deliverance.  Agostina,  in 
testimony  of  her  courage,  was  to  receive  for  life  the 
pay  of  an  artilleryman,  and  to  wear  a  little  shield  of 
honor  embroidered  on  her  sleeve. 

So  ended  the  wonderful  siege  of  Zaragoza.  It  is 
sad  to  know  that  when  the  French  forces  came  in 
full  numbers  into  Spain,  the  brave  town  shared  the 
fate  of  the  rest  of  the  country.  But  the  resistance 
had  not  been  in  vain  ;  it  had  raised  a  feeling  for  the 
gallant  Spaniards  throughout  Europe,  and  inspired 
a  trust  in  their  constancy  which  contributed  to  bring 
them  that  aid  from  England  by  which  their  country 
was,  after  six  years,  finally  freed  from  the  French 
usurpation. 


CASAL    NOVO. 
1811. 

THERE  is  something  exceedingly  interesting  in 
knowing  what  a  brave  and  generous  man,  who 
had  never  flinched  from  any  danger,  looked  back 
upon  in  his  last  days  as  the  one  Golden  Deed  of 
his  life  ;  and  therefore  among  the  many  noble  and 
spirited  actions  during  the  war  by  which  the  British 
arms  chased  the  usurping  French  out  of  the  Penin- 
sula, that  one  is  selected  of  which  the  doer  spoke 
thus,  forty-seven  yeirs  later,  when  he  thought  him- 
self upon  his  deathbed  :  — 

"  As  I  lie  here  and  think  of  my  past  life,"  said  Sir 
William  Napier,  "  I  feel  small,  —  very  small  indeed. 
I  try  to  remember  if  I  have  done  any  good,  but  the 
evil  far  overbalances  it.  We  shall  all  be  weighed 
in  the  balance,  and  found  wanting.  In  the  eye  of 
the  great  good  God,  earthly  goodness  can  have  no 
positive  existence,  yet  he  sees  and  makes  allow- 
ances for  us  all,  giving  more  credit  for  good  and  less 
blame  for  evil  than  our  fellow-creatures'  harsh  judg- 
ing would  have  done.  Men  should  strive  after  those 
priceless  virtues  of  patience,  wisdom,  charity,  self- 
sacrifice.  In  looking  back  on  my  life,  it  would  be  a 
comfort  to  me  now  if  I  could  remember  to  have  done 
a  perfectly  self-sacrificing  act ;  if  I  could  think  I  had 
been  ready  and  willing  at  any  moment  to  lay  down 
my  life  for  another  person's  good.     I  try  to  remem- 


384  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

ber,  but  I  can't  remember  that  I  ever  did.  I  have 
often  run  into  danger,  and  exposed  myself  to  pain 
sometimes,  to  save  others.  Yes,  I  have  done  that  ! 
but  there  was  always  a  springing  hope,  a  sort  of 
conviction  that  I  should  escape  ;  and  that  being  so, 
away  flies  the  merit.  The  nearest  thing  I  ever  did 
to  absolute  self-sacrifice  was  at  Casal  Novo,  when  I 
received  in  my  back  the  ball  that  lies  there  still." 

The  old  soldier's  deliberate  judgment  of  all  the 
noblest  deeds  of  a  long  life  was  the  realizing  of  the 
truth  that  "  all  our  righteousnesses  are  as  filthy 
rags,"  and  no  eye  but  his  cwn  would  have  locked 
at  them  so  critically.  But  let  us  see  the  manner  of 
the  one  thing  that  "  came  nearest  to  self-sacrifice." 

It  was  in  the  year  181 1,  when  Wellington  had  en- 
trenched his  army  on  the  slopes  of  Torres  Vedras, 
in  Portugal,  and  there,  by  his  patience  and  sagacity, 
had  repulsed  the  French  army  under  Marshal  Mas- 
sena,  and  was  following  up  his  retreat  out  of  the 
kingdom  of  Portugal.  The  English  and  Portuguese 
troops  used  to  rise  at  three  in  the  morning,  and 
march  at  four  ;  and  on  the  14th  of  March,  when  the 
army  was  setting  out  in  the  morning  twilight,  there 
was  a  heavy  fog  covering  all  the  valley  in  front.  Sir 
William  Erskine,  the  general  in  command  of  the 
Light  Division,  consisting  of  the  52d  and  43d  Regi- 
ments and  the  Rifles,  all  the  very  flower  of  the  army, 
was  an  incompetent  man,  and  fancying  the  French 
were  in  full  retreat,  ordered  his  troops  to  move  for- 
ward on  their  march.  Some  of  the  officers  objected 
to  the  rashness  of  plunging  into  the  mist  without 
precaution  ;  but  they  were  not  heeded,  and  the  order 
to  advance  was  given. 

The  52d  moved  forward  first,  in  a  column  of  sec- 
tions, and  were  to  be  followed  by  the  Rifles.  Down 
the  hillside  they  went,  then  across  a  narrow  ravine 
at  the  bottom,  and  were  mounting  the  steep  road 
on  the  other  side,  when  there  was  a  sudden  hail  of 


Casal  Novo.  385 

round  shot  and  bullets  close  upon  them.  The  fog 
cut  off  their  view,  but  the  bugles  continued  to  sound 
the  advance,  and  they  pushed  on  through  walled 
fields,  the  enemy  giving  way  before  them,  till  they 
gained  the  ridge  of  the  hill,  though  with  loss  of 
men,  and  with  three  captains  wounded,  —  one  of 
them  George  Napier,  and  another,  "  Jack  Jones," 
afterwards  the  hero  of  the  powder-magazine  at 
Ciudad  Rodrigo. 

The  mist  suddenly  drew  up,  and  displayed  to  the 
English  troops  the  hillside  covered  with  dark 
masses  of  the  blue-clad  French  soldiers,  and  in  the 
midst  what  looked  like  a  red  pimple  on  the  ridge, 
being,  in  fact,  the  52c!  in  the  very  middle  of  Marshal 
Ney's  division,  —  so  near  the  Marshal  himself,  the 
bravest  of  the  brave,  that  if  they  had  only  been  able 
to  see  him,  they  might  have  made  him  prisoner  by 
his  own  bivouac  fire. 

The  rest  of  the  Light  Division  were  put  in  motion 
to  support  them,  and  Captain  William  Napier  was 
sent  forward,  with  six  companies  of  his  regiment, 
the  43d,  to  aid  them  on  the  left.  When  he  came  to 
a  round  hill,  he  halted,  and  left  four  companies  to 
watch,  while,  with  the  other  two,  he  descended  into 
one  of  the  narrow  ravines  to  join  the  left  of  the  53d, 
whom  he  heard,  though  he  could  not  see  over  the 
ridge  of  the  hill.  Part  of  the  regiment  had  charged, 
but  not  the  whole,  and  thus  Napier,  coming  up  into 
a  walled  field  where  he  expected  to  join  the  left 
side  of  the  53d,  found  only  Captain  Dobbs  and  two 
men  of  the  5 2d  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  their  regi- 
ment. 

The  French  came  gathering  fast  about  them,  and 
cutting  off  their  retreat.  The  two  officers  agreed 
that  the  boldest  course  would  be  the  safest,  so  they 
called  to  the  two  companies  behind  them  to  follow, 
and  sprang  over  the  wall  in  front,  meaning  to  force 
their  way  on  to  the  53d  in  front.  But  only  the  two 
2  5 


386  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

52d  men  followed,  both  the  companies  of  the  43d 
held  back  ;  and  when  the  two  captains  had  reached 
a  second  wall,  they  found  merely  this  pair  of  men 
with  them,  and  a  great  body  of  the  enemy  in  front, 
closing  upon  them  and  firing. 

The  wall  gave  a  moment's  protection,  and  Napier 
declared  he  would  either  save  Dobbs  or  lose  his  own 
life  by  bringing  up  his  two  companies.  Dobbs  en- 
treated him  not  to  attempt  it,  saying  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  make  two  steps  from  the  wall  and  live. 
Still,  however,  Napier,  who  was  stung  by  the  back- 
wardness of  his  men,  dashed  back  unhurt.  His  men 
were  crouching  under  the  wall ;  they  had  perhaps 
failed  before  from  being  out  of  breath,  from  their 
charge  up  the  hill  with  their  heavy  knapsacks  on 
their  backs,  and  still  more  from  the  mismanagement 
of  the  two  lieutenants  in  command  of  them,  both 
dull,  rude  men,  tyrannical  in  their  behavior.  One, 
who  was  noted  for  fighting  duels,  was  lying  down 
with  his  face  to  the  ground,  and  when  the  captain 
called,  shouted  to  him,  and  bade  him  remember  his 
uniform,  and  come  on  with  the  men, — he  did  not 
stir,  till,  in  extremity  of  provocation,  Napier  threw 
a  stone  at  his  head.  This  made  him  get  up  and 
scramble  over  the  wall  with  the  men  ;  but  on  the 
other  side  he  was  wild  with  terror, — eyes  staring 
and  hands  spread  out,  —  and  when  Napier  ordered 
the  men  on  to  where  Dobbs  was,  and  ran  forward 
himself,  they,  under  their  lieutenant's  cowardly  lead- 
ing, all  edged  away  to  the  right,  out  of  the  fire,  and 
again  Napier  reached  his  friend  alone. 

Maddened  at  the  failure,  he  again  sprang  back 
to  lead  them,  but  ere  he  could  reach  them,  was 
struck  by  a  bullet  in  the  spine,  and  fell.  The  French 
most  ungenerously  continued  to  fire  at  him  as  he 
lay,  and  his  legs  had  been  paralyzed  by  the  effect  of 
his  wound,  so  that  ho  could  only  drag  himself  by  his 
hands  towards  a  heap  of  stones,  behind  which  he 


Casal  Novo.  387 

sheltered  his  head  and  shoulders.  No  less  than 
twenty  shots  struck  the  heap  in  the  moment  before 
Captain  Lloyd  with  his  own  company  of  the  43d,  and 
some  of  the  52U,  came  up,  and  drove  off  the  enemy. 
Napier  was  carried  away  from  this  spot,  and  laid  for 
a  time  under  an  olive-tree,  while  the  fight  lasted, 
and  the  French  were  driven  on  from  ridge  to  ridge. 

While  he  was  lying  there,  helpless  and  exhausted, 
the  grenadier  company  of  Royal  Scots  were  hasten- 
ing forward,  and  their  captain,  seeing  the  wounded 
man,  ran  up,  and  said,  "  I  hope  you  are  not  danger- 
ously wounded."  He  could  not  speak,  but  only 
shook  his  head  ;  and  being  asked  again,  "  Can  I  be 
of  any  service  to  you  ? "  made  the  same  sign  ;  but 
when  Captain  Wilson  offered  him  some  cold  tea 
and  brandy  from  his  flask,  he  raised  his  head  with  a 
sudden  flash  of  pleasure,  and  gladly  drank  two 
tumblermls  ;  then  thanked  with  his  eyes  and  hands. 
"  Heaven  protect  you,"  the  captain  said,  and  hurried 
on  to  overtake  his  men.  Napier  was  a  singularly 
handsome,  noble-looking  man,  with  perfect  features, 
jet-black  hair  and  dark  gray  eyes,  and  though  now 
deadly  pale,  the  remarkably  beautiful  outline  of  his 
features,  and  the  sweet  and  noble  expression  of  his 
countenance  made  a  great  impression  on  Captain 
Wilson  ;  but  among  the  numbers  of  the  army,  they 
were  never  again  thrown  together,  and  did  not  know 
each  other's  names. 

Napier  was  thought  to  be  mortally  wounded,  and 
his  brother  Charles,  who,  half-recovered  from  a 
wound,  had  ridden  ninety  miles  to  join  the  army, 
met  a  litter  of  branches,  covered  by  a  blanket,  and 
borne  by  soldiers.  He  asked  who  it  was  ?  "  Cap- 
tain Napier,  of  the  52d,  —  broken  arm."  Then 
came  another  litter,  —  "  Captain  Napier,  of  the  43d, 
—  mortally  wounded."  Charles  Napier  looked  at 
his  brothers,  and  passed  on  to  the  battle. 

The  brothers  were  placed  in  a  house  at  Condeixa, 


388  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

but.  besides  their  wounds,  they,  like  all  the  army, 
suffered  terribly  from  famine,  for  the  French  had 
destroyed  everything  before  them,  and  the  villagers 
themselves  were  absolutely  starving.  A  tallow  can- 
dle that  the  brothers  found  in  the  house  was  eaten 
up  with  the  utmost  relish  !  By  some  chance  a  loaf 
of  bread  came  into  the  hands  of  Captain  Light,  a 
cavalry  officer,  at  the  end  of  a  long  day's  march. 
Hungry  as  he  was.  he  would  not  look' at  it,  but 
mounted  again,  and  rode  twenty  miles  to  Combeixa, 
over  the  mountains,  and  there,  fearing  a  refusal,  he 
flung  the  loaf  into  the  room  where  the  brothers  lay, 
and  rode  back  to  his  regiment. 

William  Napier  soon  partially  recovered,  but  the 
bullet  could  never  be  extracted,  and  caused  him 
agonies  at  intervals  throughout  the  rest  of  his  life. 
The  story  of  the  combat,  which  he  felt  as  that  of 
his  greatest  deed,  was  told  by  him  in  his  great  his- 
tory of  the  Peninsular  war,  but  without  a  hint  of 
his  own  concern  in  the  matter.  Sixteen  years  after 
the  battle,  he  met  at  a  dinner  party  a  gentleman, 
who  apropos  to  some  mention  of  handsome  men, 
said  that  the  very  handsomest  he  had  ever  seen, 
was  one  whom  he  had  found  lying  speechless  under 
an  olive-tree  at  Casal  Novo,  and  had  succored  as 
above  described.  Sir  William  Napier  sprang  from 
his  chair,  exclaiming,  "  My  dear  Wilson  !  that  was 
you,  —  that  glass  of  tea  and  brandy  saved  my  life." 
He  had  already  become  acquainted  with  Sir  John 
Morillyon  Wilson,  but  till  that  moment  neither  had 
known  that  the  other  was  his  partner  in  the  adven- 
ture of  the  olive-tree. 

Assuredly  that  stony  field  was  a  scene  to  look 
back  on  from  old  age  with  thankful  satisfaction. 
And  no  less  worthy  of  honor  was.  it  seems  to  us, 
that  twenty  miles  ride  by  the  hungry,  weary  officer, 
to  bring  his  wounded  comrades  the  loaf  of  bread. 


THE    MAD    DOG. 
1816. 

SIR  THOMAS  FOWELL  BUXTON  was  well 
known  in  the  early  part  of  the  present  century 
as  one  of  the  most  earnest  assistants  of  William 
Wilberforce  in  freeing  England  from  the  crimes 
inseparable  from  slave-holding.  It  is  not,  however, 
of  his  public  career,  nor  of  his  deep  piety,  that  we 
are  about  to  speak,  but  of  one  incident  in  his  life, 
which  shows  how  a  really  religious  and  intrepid 
man  will  face  a  sudden  and  frightful  peril  for  the 
sake  of  others.  The  event  took  place  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1 8 16,  when  he  was  thirty  years  old,  a 
capital  sportsman  and  a  man  of  remarkable  per- 
sonal strength  and  great  height  (six  foot  four).  He 
was  not  as  yet  a  baronet,  and  was  at  the  time  living 
at  Hampstead,  and  daily  riding  into  Spitalnelds  to 
attend  to  the  affairs  of  a  brewery  in  which  he  was  a 
partner.  During  a  visit  that  his  wife  and  children 
were  making  at  a  distance,  he  had  been  staying 
with  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Hoare,  not  far  from  his 
home.  When  his  servant  brought  his  horse  to  him 
there,  it  was  with  the  intelligence  that  his  dog, 
Prince,  was  in  a  strange  state,  had  killed  the  cat, 
almost  killed  another  dog,  and  had  tried  to  bite 
some  of  the  servants.  Mr.  Buxton  desired  that  the 
creature  should  be  tied  up  and  taken  care  of,  and 


390  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

then  rode  off  to  his  business  in  town  ;  but  as  he  re- 
turned he  saw  Prince,  evidently  mad,  covered  with 
mud,  running  furiously  and  biting  at  everything. 

Mr.  Buxton  tried  to  ride  him  down  or  drive  him 
into  some  outhouse,  but  in  vain  ;  and  he  bit  at  least 
a  dozen  dogs,  two  boys,  and  a  man,  springing  at  a 
boy  and  seizing  him  by  the  breast,  but  this  time  his 
master  was  near  enough  to  knock  him  down  with 
his  whip.  He  then  changed  his  course,  setting  off 
for  London,  and  Mr.  Buxton  rode  by  his  side,  wait- 
ing for  some  opportunity  of  stopping  him,  and 
constantly  calling  to  him  ;  but  the  poor  animal  was 
past  attending  to  the  well-known  voice,  whether 
coaxing  or  scolding.  He  was  getting  near  more 
closely  inhabited  places,  and  considering  the  fearful 
damage  he  might  effect.  Mr.  Buxton  thought  'lif 
ever  there  was  an  occasion  that  justified  a  risk  of 
life,  this  was  it."'  and  determined  to  catch  him  him- 
self. Prince  ran  to  a  garden-door,  and  Mr.  Buxton, 
leaping  from  his  horse,  grasped  him  by  the  neck. 
His  struggles  were  so  desperate,  that  it  seemed  at 
first  almost  impossible,  even  for  so  powerful  a  man, 
to  hold  him  (he  was  evidently  a  large  dog;;  but 
lifting  him  up  from  the  ground,  he  was  more  easily 
managed,  and  Mr.  Buxton  contrived  to  ring  the 
bell  :  but  for  a  long  time  no  one  came  to  his  help, 
and  being  afraid  lest  the  foam  which  was  pouring 
from  the  poor  beast's  jaws  might  get  into  some 
scratch  on  his  fingers,  and  be  as  dangerous  as  an 
actual  bite,  he  with  great  difficulty  held  Prince  with 
one  hand  while  he  worked  the  other  into  the  glove 
in  his  pocket,  then  changed  hands,  and  thus  put  on 
the  other  glove.  At  last  the  gardener  opened  the 
door,  and  asked  what  he  wanted.  "I've  brought 
you  a  mad  dog,"  was  the  answer  ;  and  desiring  him  to 
get  a  strong  chain.  Mr.  Buxton  walked  into  the  yard 
carrying  Prince  by  the  neck.  He  was  determined 
not  to  kill  the  cog  at  once,  thinking  that  if  it  should 


The  Mad  Dog.  391 

prove  not  to  be  a  case  of  hydrophobia,  it  would  be 
a  great  relief  to  the  persons  who  had  been  bitten, 
and  this  could  only  be  determined  by  letting  the 
disease  take  its  course.  The  gardener  was  in  great 
terror,  but  had  sense  enough  to  obey  directions,  and 
was  able  to  secure  the  collar  round  the  dog's  neck, 
and  fasten  the  other  end  of  the  chain  to  a  tree. 
Mr.  Buxton  then  walked  to  the  utmost  bound  of 
the  chain,  and  with  all  his  force,  "which,"  he  says, 
"was  nearly  exhausted  by  the  dog's  frantic  strug- 
gles," threw  the  creature  as  far  away  from  him  as 
he  could,  and  sprang  back  in  time  to  avoid  poor 
Prince's  desperate  bound  after  him,  which  was  fol- 
lowed by  "the  most  fearful  yell  he  ever  heard." 

All  day  the  unhappy  creature,  in  the  misery  of 
that  horrible  disease  to  which  our  faithful  compan- 
ions are  sometimes  subject,  rushed  round  and  round 
the  tree,  champing  the  foam  that  gushed  from  his 
jaws,  and  when  food  was  thrown  to  him,  snatched 
at  it  with  fury,  but  could  not  eat  it.  The  next  day, 
Mr.  Buxton  thought  the  chain  in  danger  of  giving 
way,  so  renewing  his  act  of  bravery,  he  obtained  a 
stronger  chain,  and  a  pitchfork.  Between  the  prongs 
of  this  he  contrived  to  get  the  dog's  body,  without 
piercing  it,  and  thus  held  him  pinned  down  to  the 
ground,  while  fastening  a  much  larger  chain  round 
his  neck.  On  the  pitchfork  being  removed,  the  dog 
sprang  up  and  dashed  after  his  master  with  such 
violence  that  the  old  chain  snapped  in  two.  How- 
ever, the  frenzy  soon  spent  his  strength,  and  he 
died  only  forty-eight  hours  after  the  first  symptoms 
of  madness  had  appeared.  All  the  dogs  and  cats 
he  had  bitten  were  killed  by  Mr.  Buxton  himself, 
knowing  that  for  such  a  painful  business  it  was 
wiser  to  trust  to  no  one's  resolution  and  humanity 
but  his  own.  The  man  and  boys  had  the  bitten 
parts  cut  out  and  the  wounds  burnt,  and  it  was 
hoped  that  the  horrid  consequences  might  be  avert- 


392  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

ed  from  them.  He  himself  expressed  great  thank- 
fulness both  for  his  own  escape  and  his  children's 
absence  from  home,  and  thus  wrote  to  his  wife  a  day 
or  two  after  :  kk  What  a  terrible  business  it  was. 
You  must  not  scold  me  for  the  risk  I  ran.  What  I 
did,  I  did  from  a  conviction  that  it  was  my  duty,  and 
I  never  can  think  that  an  over-cautious  care  of  self 
in  circumstances  where  your  risk  may  preserve  oth- 
ers, is  so  great  a  virtue  as  you  seem  to  think  it.  I 
do  believe  if  I  had  shrunk  frcm  the  danger,  and 
others  had  suffered  in  consequence,  I  should  have 
felt  more  pain  than  I  should  have  done  had  I  re- 
ceived a  bite." 

The  perfect  coolness  and  presence  of  mind  shown 
in  the  whole  adventure  are,  perhaps,  some  of  its 
most  remarkable  features,  —  all  teing  done  from  no 
sudden  impulse,  no  daring  temper,  but  from  the 
grave,  considerate  conviction  of  the  duty  of  encoun- 
tering the  peril  on  the  part  of  the  person  most  likely 
to  be  able  to  secure  others  ;  and  no  one  who  has 
shuddered  at  the  accounts  of  the  agonies  of  hydro- 
phobia can  fail  to  own  how  deadly  that  peril  was. 

As  a  pendant  to  our  countryman's  battle  with  a 
mad  dog,  let  us  see  a  combat  between  one  of  these 
frenzied  creatures  and  a  French  weaver,  named  Si- 
mon Albony,  a  poor  man  of  the  town  of  Rhodez,  who 
was  the  bread-winner  for  his  aged  father.  Coming 
home  from  his  work,  in  the  summer  of  the  year 
1830,  at  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  he  en- 
countered a  mad  dog,  who  had  already  greatly  in- 
jured several  of  the  townspeople.  The  creature 
was  advancing  slowly,  but  suddenly  turned  upon 
him.  Setting  his  back  against  a  wall,  he  coura- 
geously waited  fpr  it,  and  laid  hold  of  it,  though  not 
without  being  severely  bitten.  He  kept  it  with  a 
firm  hand,  shouting  that  he  would  not  let  it  go  to 
do  further  mischief,  but  that  some  one  must  bring 
him  an  axe,  and  break  its  back. 


The  Mad  Dog.  393 

Monsieur  Portat,  a  mounted  gendarme,  heard 
him,  and,  hastening  to  his  help,  found  him  strug- 
gling with  this  large  hound,  holding  him  by  the 
neck  and  ears,  and  constantly  asking  for  an  axe 
to  kill  him  with.  The  gendarme  struck  the  dog 
with  his  stick,  but  it  was  not  strong  enough  to 
kill  it ;  and  another  person  came  up  with  a  heav- 
ier club,  and  gave  it  a  finishing  stroke.  Albony 
had  received  fourteen  wounds  on  the  body,  thighs, 
and  hands  ;  but  they  were  immediately  operated 
upon,  and  at  the  time  his  name  was  brought  for- 
ward, seven  months  afterwards,  to  receive  a  prize 
from  the  Monthyon  fund  for  his  heroism,  it  was 
hoped  that  the  danger  of  any  bad  effects  had  passed 
away. 


THE    MONTHYON    PRIZES. 

1820. 

THE  Baron  de  Monthyon  was  a  French  lawyer, 
greatly  devoted  to  all  that  could  do  good  to  his 
fellow-creatures.  Little  of  his  personal  history  is 
known  ;  but  what  made  his  name  celebrated  was 
the  endowments  that  he  left  by  his  will  at  his  death, 
in  1820.  The  following  is  a  translation  of  certain 
clauses  in  his  will :  — 

"12.  I  bequeath  the  sum  of  10,000  francs  to  pro- 
vide an  annual  prize  for  whosoever  shall  discover 
any  mode  of  rendering  any  mechanical  art  less 
unhealthy. 

"13.  A  like  sum  of  10,000  francs  as  an  annual 
prize  for  whosoever  shall  invent  any  means  of  per- 
fecting medical  science  or  surgical  art. 

"  14.  A  like  sum  of  10,000  francs  for  an  annual 
prize  to  the  poor  French  person  who,  in  the  course 
of  the  year,  shall  have  performed  the  most  virtuous 
action. 

"15.  A  like  sum  of  10,000  francs  for  the  French 
person  who  shall  have  composed  and  published  in 
France  the  bcok  most  beneficial  to  morals." 

The  two  former  prizes  to  be  distributed  by  the 
Academy  of  Sciences  ;  the  two  latter  by  the  French 
Academy. 

Besides  these,  there  were  large  legacies  to  hos- 
pitals.    All  the  prizes,  we  believe,  continue  to  be 


The  Monthyon  Prizes.  395 

given  ;  but  it  is  with  the  "  Prize  of  Virtue,"  as  it  is 
called,  that  we  are  concerned.  The  French  Acade- 
my, which  is  a  society  of  all  the  most  distinguished 
literary  personages  in  France,  has  the  office  of  be- 
stowing this  prize,  which  may  either  be  given  entire, 
or  divided  into  lesser  portions  among  a  number 
of  claimants,  at  the  option  of  the  Academy.  The 
recommendation  for  such  a  prize  must  be  sent  up 
by  the  authorities  of  the  town  or  village  where  it  has 
taken  place,  and  must  contain  a  full  account  of  the 
action  itself,  attested  by  witnesses,  and  likewise  of 
the  life  of  the  person  recommended,  going  back  at 
least  two  years,  and  countersigned  by  all  the  chief 
persons  in  the  place.  Those  to  whom  the  prize  is 
adjudged  must  appear  in  person,  or  by  an  authorized 
proxy,  at  the  meeting  of  the  Academy,  where  a  dis- 
course upon  virtue  in  general  is  delivered  by  one  of 
the  members,  and  the  meritorious  deeds  to  which 
the  prize  is  awarded  are  described  in  detail. 

We  are  not  sure  that  it  suits  our  English  tastes 
to  have  "  golden  deeds  "  thus  paid  for  in  gold  ;  and 
we  are  quite  sure  that  most  English  folks  capa- 
ble of  such  actions  would  much  rather  hide  them- 
selves than  hear  their  praises  trumpeted  forth  by 
an  Academician.  Nevertheless,  there  is  something 
noble  in  M.  de  Monthyon's  intention  ;  and  as  al- 
most all  the  "  virtuous  actions  "  were  done  perfectly 
irrespective  of  the  prize,  we  cannot  but  be  grateful 
for  having  had  them  brought  to  our  knowledge. 

Faithful  servants,  peasant  women  devoted  to 
charity,  and  heroic  preservers  of  life,  are  the  chief 
objects  selected  by  the  Academy,  with  here  and 
there  an  instance  of  extraordinary  exertions  of  filial 
piety  ;  as,  for  instance,  Jeanne  Parelle,  to  whom  a 
prize  was  given  in  1835. 

She  was  one  of  the  eight  children  of  a  laborer  at 
Coulange,  near  Montresor,  and  was  born  in  1786. 
She  was  in  service  when,  in  1812,  her  mother  be- 


396  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

came  paralytic,  and  she  came  home  and  thenceforth 
devoted  herself  to  the  care  of  her  parents.  A  few- 
years  after,  her  father  had  a  sort  of  fit,  in  which  his 
teeth  were  closely  locked  together,  but  his  mouth 
filled  with  blood,  and  he  would  have  been  choked 
but  for  Jeanne's  readiness  in  forcing  them  apart  with 
her  hands,  at  the  cost  of  being  severely  bitten.  The 
attack  came  on  every  night,  and  as  regularly  did 
Jeanne  expose  her  hands  to  the  dreadlul  bites  of 
her  unconscious  father,  until  sometimes  the  flesh 
was  torn  almost  to  the  bone,  and  yet  she  cheerfully 
went  about  her  work  all  day,  endeavoring  to  prevent 
her  father  from  perceiving  her  injuries.  This  lasted 
ten  years,  during  which  time  the  poor  people  only 
once  consulted  a  doctor,  who  could  do  nothing  for 
them.  The  poor  old  man  grew  blind,  sold  his  little 
house,  and  at  last  died,  leaving  his  wife  deaf,  blind, 
unable  to  move  from  her  chair,  or  to  do  anything 
but  tell  her  beads.  Jeanne  spun,  made  hay,  and 
tended  her  with  the  utmost  care  and  cheerfulness  ; 
but,  at  length,  the  mother  and  daughter  accepted  an 
invitation  from  an  elder  married  sister  to  come  to 
Blois.  They  moved  accordingly ;  but  the  sister 
was  unable  to  do  much  for  them,  and  they  were 
obliged  to  hire  a  room,  where  they  were  supported 
by  Jeanne's  exertions,  together  with  an  allowance 
from  the  Bureau  de  Charite  of  three  loaves  and 
three  pounds  of  meat  in  a  month. 

Of  Jeanne's  patience  and  sweetness  with  the  poor 
old  childish  woman,  the  following  testimony  was 
given: — One  festival-day,  Mere  Parelle  wished  to 
go  to  church,  and  Jeanne,  now  a  hard-working  wo- 
man of  forty-five,  made  no  difficulties,  but  petted 
and  caressed  her,  promising  her  that  she  should  go ; 
and  on  a  hot  August  day  she  was  seen  with  a  great 
arm-chair  on  one  arm,  and  her  mother  on  the  other. 
She  dragged  the  old  woman  three  steps,  then  set 
her  down  in  the  chair  to  rest ;  then  lifted  her  up, 


The  Monthyon  Prizes.  397 

led  her  a  little  further,  and  put  the  chair  down  again. 
They  were  three-quarters  of  an  hour  in  going  the 
distance  Jeanne  would  have  walked  in  five  minutes  ; 
and  after  the  return  was  effected,  Jeanne  was  full  of 
delight.  "  Well,  dearest,  did  you  say  your  prayers 
well  ?  Are  you  glad  ?  You  are  not  tired  !  "  And 
this  laborious  journey  was  cheerfully  renewed  on 
the  old  woman's  least  wish.  Sometimes  Jeanne  was 
advised  to  send  her  to  the  hospital,  the  last  refuge 
of  poverty  in  France,  analogous  to  a  workhouse. 

"  It  breaks  my  heart  when  they  say  so,"  she  said. 

"  But,  Jeanne,  your  mother  would  be  well  cared 
for." 

"  I  know  that ;  I  do  not  say  so  from  contempt  for 
the  hospital.  She  would  be  taken  care  of.  But  ten- 
derness, who  would  give  her  that  ? "  And  another 
time  she  added,  "  God  leaves  us  our  parents,  that 
we  may  take  care  of  them.  If  I  forsook  my  poor 
patient,  I  should  deserve  that  God  should  forsake 
me." 

Jeanne  and  her  mother  lived  on  a  ground  floor, 
and  many  persons  thus  had  the  opportunity  of 
observing  that  her  tenderness  never  relaxed.  She 
herself  lived  on  the  inferior  bread  provided  by  the 
charity,  with  a  few  turnips  and  potatoes,  whilst  she 
kept  her  mother  on  white  bread,  and,  if  possible, 
procured  butter,  cheese,  and  milk  for  her.  Once 
when  the  curate  had  sent  her  a  pie,  which  had  been 
scarcely  touched,  her  friends  were  surprised  to  see 
how  long  it  lasted.  "  Yes,  I  make  the  most  of  it  for 
my  mother ;  I  cut  off  nice  little  bits  for  her  at  her 
meals,  it  gives  them  a  relish." 

"  Do  not  you  eat  it,  then  ?  " 

"It  would  be  a  great  pity  for  me  to  eat  it,  and 
nibble  away  her  share,  poor  thing,  — it  is  her  treat, 
and  she  has  so  few  pleasures,  poor  sufferer  !  —  nei- 
ther hearing,  nor  seeing,  and  always  in  pain." 

In  a  great  frost,  when  it  was  bitterly  cold,  she  was 


398  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

found  trying  to  cover  her  mother  with  an  old  worn- 
out  pelisse,  and  looking  quite  melancholy,  so  a  good 
thick  woollen  wrapper  was  sent  to  her.  On  the  next 
visit  the  old  woman  was  found  tied  up  in  it,  with 
strings  over  her  shoulders,  and  the  daughter  beam- 
ing with  delight.  "  Bless  those  who  have  warmed 
my  mother,"  she  said ;  "  God  will  warm  them  in 
paradise." 

A  pair  of  old  warm  flannel  sleeves  were  given  her 
for  herself,  but  she  was  seen  again  with  bare  arms 
in  the  extreme  cold.  "  Did  not  the  sleeves  fit  you  ?  " 
"  O,  I  picked  them  to  pieces.  My  mother  had 
pains  in  her  knees,  so  I  sewed  the  flannel  on  to  her 
under-petticoat ;  it  is  warm,  you  see  ;  she  likes  it, 
poor  thing."  And  there  the  pieces  were,  laid  out 
neatly  so  as  to  thicken  the  petticoat.  Amid  all  her 
infirmities  the  delicate  neatness  and  fresh  cleanli- 
ness of  the  Mere  Parelle  were  a  continual  wonder. 
One  of  the  visiting  ladies  said,  "  Really  your  mother 
looks  quite  fresh  and  bright";  and  the  gcod  daugh- 
ter smiled,  looking  like  a  young  mother  compli- 
mented upon  her  child's  beauty,  "  You  think  her 
so?"  she  said.  "Ah,  poor  thing!  she  is  fresher 
than  I  am,  for  she  does  not  drudge  so  much";  and 
then,  with  a  sigh,  "Ah  !  if  she  could  but  hear  me  !  " 
For  the  poor  sufferer  had  at  last  grown  so  entirely 
deaf,  that  she  did  not  hear  her  daughter  at  all,  and 
was  "constantly  calling  Jeanne  without  knowing  that 
she  was  answered.  For  two  months  in  the  winter 
the  daughter  had  never  gone  to  bed,  and  though  her 
own  health  began  to  sutler,  she  never  complained. 
For  five-and-twenty  years,  when  the  prize  was  given 
in  1830,  had  Jeanne  Parelle  been  the  unwearied 
nurse  and  bread-winner  of  first  two.  then  one  parent. 
It  seems  a  small  thing  that  man  should  attempt  to 
reward  such  exertions,  yet,  en  the  other  hand,  there 
is  something  touching  in  this  hard-handed,  untaught, 
toiling,  moiling,    elderly   charwoman   beirg  chosen 


The  Monthyon  Prizes.  399 

out  to  receive  honor  due  by  the  first  men  in  intellect 
and  position  in  her  country,  and  all  for  the  simple, 
homely  virtues  of  humble  life. 

Madame  Vigier,  a  bourgeoise  of  Aurillac,  origi- 
nally in  easy  circumstances,  and  at  one  time  rich,  was 
left  a  widow  with  four  sons,  and  gradually  fell  into  a 
stite  of  extreme  distress.  Two  kind  gentlemen, 
M.  Sers,  the  Prefet  of  Cantal,  and  M.  Azemard, 
curate  of  Notre  Dame,  were  interested  in  the  family, 
and  three  of  the  sons  were  placed  in  good  situations  ; 
but  the  youngest,  Jean,  being  a  particularly  clever, 
promising  boy,  they  wished  him  to  receive  a  superior 
education  ;  and  finding  themselves  unable,  both  to 
keep  him  at  school,  and  support  his  mother,  they 
decided  on  sending  Madame  Vigier  to  the  hospital. 
Jean  was  at  this  time  nine  and  a  half  years  old,  and 
at  his  boarding-school,  scarcely  knew  of  his  mother's 
condition.  Intending  to  break  the  matter  to  him, 
the  curate  invited  him  to  his  house  for  a  holiday, 
and  he  came  in  his  best  clothes  ;  but  just  as  he 
had  arrived  M.  Azdmard  was  called  away  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  telling  the  boy  not  to  meddle  with  his 
breviary,  he  went  down  stairs. 

Little  Jean  was  naughty  boy  enough  to  be  incited 
to  meddle  by  the  prohibition  itself!  As  he  took  up 
the  breviary,  out  fell  a  paper.  It  was  an  order  for 
the  hospital,  and  his  mother's  name  was  on  it !  The 
first  thing  the  boy  did  was  to  run  down  stairs,  and 
back  to  the  school,  there  to  change  his  clothes  for 
his  everyday  ones.  When  he  re-appeared,  the  cu- 
rate said,  "  Ah  !  poor  child,  curiosity  led  you  astray, 
but  the  fault  has  brought  its  own  punishment,  and 
you  have  been  hiding  yourself  to  cry  over  it." 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  I  have  not  been  crying. 
I  know  it  all.  My  mother  shall  not  go  to  the  hospi- 
tal, she  would  die  of  vexation.  I  will  not  return 
to  school.  I  will  stay  with  her.  I  will  support 
her." 


400  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

The  curate,  though  struck  with  his  manner,  tried 
to  reason  him  out  of  his  resolution,  and  took  him  to 
several  friends,  who  represented  to  him  that  by  fin- 
ishing his  education,  he  would  enable  himself,  by 
and  by,  to  provide  far  better  for  his  mother  than  if 
he  broke  it  off  at  once  ;  but  his  one  idea  was  to 
save  her  from  the  hospital,  and  he  was  not  to  be  per- 
suaded. He  consulted  his  brothers,  who  were  mak- 
ing their  way  in  the  world,  and  begged  them  to  assist 
him  in  maintaining  her  ;  then  when  they  refused,  he 
asked  them  at  least  to  lend  him  a  small  sum,  prom- 
ising to  repay  them.  Still  they  refused,  and  all  that 
was  left  for  him  to  do.  was  to  sell  his  clothes  and  a 
watch,  that  the  prefect  had  given  him  as  a  reward 
for  some  success  at  school.  With  this  capital,  the 
little  fellow  set  up  as  a  hawker  of  cakes  and  chil- 
dren's toys,  and  succeeded  in  earning  enough  to 
support  his  mother.  At  the  time  his  name  was 
brought  forward  for  a  " prix  de  vertu  "  he  had  been 
nineteen  years  solely,  devoted  to  her,  refusing  every 
offer  that  would  separate  him  from  her.  and  mak- 
ing her  happy  by  his  attentions.  He  was  at  that 
time  porter  at  an  inn  at  Aurillac.  a  situation  which 
must  have  been  a  great  contrast  with  those  which 
he  might  have  obtained  but  for  his  love  of  his 
mother. 

It  maybe  said,  however,  that  to  show  "  piety  at 
home  "'  is  the  very  first  and  most  natural  of  duties. 
Let  us  pass  on.  then,  to  see  what  devoted  affection 
has  done  where  the  tie  was  only  that  of  servant  to 
master. 

The  faithful  statesman  of  the  great  Henri  IV.,  the 
Due  de  Sully,  was  amply  rewarded  by  his  grateful 
master,  and  left  a  princely  estate  to  his  family,  but 
after  a  few  generations  the  male  line  became  extinct, 
and  the  heiress,  named  Maximilienne  de  Bethune, 
after  her  great  ancestor,  carried  the  property  into 
the  house  of  Aubespine. 


The  Monthyd7i  Prises.  401 

Bad  management,  together  with  the  reverses  of 
the  Revolution,  gradually  destroyed  the  riches  of  this 
family,  and  at  last  the  Marquis  d'Aubespine  was 
obliged  to  sell  the  castle  of  Villebon,  with  all  the 
memorials  of  the  great  Sully,  and  the  only  estate 
-that  remained  to  him.  Out  of  the  price,  he  could 
only  save  enough  from  his  creditors  to  purchase  for 
himself  an  annuity  of  6,000  francs,  another  of  2,400 
francs  for  his  son,  and  a  third  of  400  for  Alexandre 
Martin,  a  servant  who  had  lived  with  him  thirty- 
five  years,  and  had  been  educated  at  his  expense. 
Soon  after  the  poor  old  Marquis  died,  and  the  credit- 
ors immediately  came  down  upon  Martin,  and  seized 
his  annuity.  There  was  no  redress,  and  Martin 
returned  to  his  native  village  of  Champrond-en- 
Gatinais,  and  took  up  the  trade  of  a  carpenter, 
which  he  had  learnt  at  the  Marquis's  expense  before 
becoming  his  servant.  On  the  16th  of  June,  1830, 
his  cottage  door  opened,  and  there  stood  his  old 
master's  son,  the  Comte  d'Aubespine,  with  his  three 
little  motherless  children,  Angelique,  five  years  old, 
Josephine,  four,  and  Louis,  little  more  than  a  year. 
The  Count  said  that  his  affairs  obliged  him  to  leave 
France  for  a  short  time,  and  he  had  no  one  to  whom 
to  intrust  his  little  ones  but  to  good  Alexandre. 
The  charge  was  willingly  accepted  as  an  honor, 
though  the  carpenter  knew  the  family  secrets  too 
well  to  wonder  that  nothing  was  said  about  paying 
their  expenses,  and  perhaps  he  also  guessed  that 
this  short  absence  was  only  to  last  for  the  Count's 
life. 

At  any  rate  he  accepted  the  children.  He  had 
three  of  his  own,  of  whom  the  eldest  was  able  to 
work.  She  and  her  mother  earned  twenty-four  sous 
a  day,  and  he  earned  thirty,  and  upon  this  the  little 
count  and  his  sisters  were  maintained,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, according  to  their  rank.  At  their  meals  they 
were  seated  at  the  cottage-table,  and  waited  on  as 
26 


402  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds 

respectfully  by  Martin,  as   if  they  had  been  at  the 

grand  salon  in  the  chateau,  and  he  their  footman. 
He  never  sat  down  with  them,  but  kept  them  dis- 
tinct in  all  ways  from  his  own  children,  who  ate 
scanty  brown  bread  with  him.  that  the  little  guests 
might  eat  white  ;  wore  their  coarse  clothes  to  rags, 
that  the  young  d'Aubespines  might  be  dressed  neat- 
ly ;  and  slept  on  the  floor,  while  the  little  nobles 
had  comfortable  beds.  There  were  no  murmurs  ; 
all  came  naturally  out  of  the  grateful  loyalty  of  the 
family  towards  their  master's  grandchildren.  Xo 
more  was  heard  of  the  father  till  his  death,  six 
years  after.  The  news  of  this  event  excited  the 
attention  of  the  neighborhood,  and  it  became  known 
that  the  last  descendants  of  Sully  were  growing  up 
in  the  cottage  of  a  poor  carpenter,  and  owing  their 
education  to  the  curate  of  the  parish.  Some  ladies 
at  Chartres  offered  to  take  charge  of  the  two  little 
girls,  and  though  the  parting  was  most  painful, 
Martin  was  glad  to  enable  them  to  be  brought  up 
as  ladies.  As  to  the  boy.  the  first  help  that  came 
for  his  education  was  from  a  charitable  foundation, 
endowed  by  his  great  ancestor,  at  Xogent  de  Ro- 
trou.  and  thus  the  only  portion  of  the  wealth  of 
Sully  that  ever  reached  his  young  descendant,  was 
that  which  had  been  laid  up  in  the  true  treasure- 
house  of  charity.  Afterwards  a  scholarship  was 
presented  to  him  by  Louis  Philippe  at  the  College 
of  Henri  IV..  and  in  1S3S.  he  and  Alexandre  Martin 
were  both  present  at  a  meeting  of  the  Academy, 
when  a  discourse  was  made  by  M.  Salvandi.  part  of 
which  deserves  to  be  recorded. 

••  Martin,  your  task  is  over.  You  have  deserved 
well  from  ail  good  men.  You  have  shown  our  age 
a  sight  only  too  rare. — gratitude,  fidelity,  respect. 
The  Academy  awards  to  your  virtue  a  prize  of  3,000 
francs.  And'  you.  Louis  d'Aubespine.  since  you  are 
present  at  this  solemnity,  may  it  make  a  deep  and 


The  Monthyon  Prizes.  403 

lasting  impression  on  your  young  heart.  You  are 
entering  life,  as  persons  are  now  and  then  forced  to 
appear  at  a  later  age,  with  all  eyes  on  you.  Learn 
that  the  first  of  earthly  blessings  is  to  be  honored 
by  one's  country,  and  pray  the  God  who  has  watched 
over  your  infancy  to  enable  you  to  win  that  blessing 
that  depends  on  ourselves,  and  that  no  event  can 
rob  us  of.  One  day  you  will  be  told  that  illustrious 
blood  flows  in  your  veins,  but  never  forget  that  you 
must  trace  your  line  as  far  back  as  to  Sully,  before 
you  can  find  a  name  worthy  to  stand  beside  that  of 
Mirtin.  Grow  up  then  to  show  yourself  worthy  of 
the  memory  of  your  ancestor,  the  devotion  of  your 
benefactor,  and  the  patronage  of  the  king !  " 

A  maid-servant,  called  Rose  Pasquer,  at  Nantes, 
during  the  worst  years  of  the  Revolution,  entirely 
miintained  her  master  and  mistress  after  they  had 
been  ruined  by  the  loss  of  their  estates  in  St.  Do- 
mingo. She  was  eighty  years  in  the  service  of  the 
same  family,  and  received  a  prize  in  her  hundredth 
year,  in  1856. 

Another  woman,  named  Madeleine  Blanchet,  who 
lost  her  husband  at  the  end  of  the  first  year  of  her 
marriage,  was  taken  into  the  service  of  an  old  lady 
at  Buzan^ais,  called  Madame  Chambert,  who  put 
out  the  widow's  baby  to  nurse,  and  was  very  kind  to 
her.  In  this  house,  Madeleine  had  been  for  nine 
years,  when,  in  the  winter  of  1852,  there  was  a  tremen- 
dous riot  in  the  town,  on  account  of  the  high  price 
of  bread.  For  some  time  beforehand  reports  had 
been  flying  about  that  the  Red  Republicans  intend- 
ed to  rise  against  all  persons  of  property  whom  they 
called  bourgeois,  and  there  was  a  story  that  an  old 
man  had  said,  "  I  have  seen  two  Revolutions  al- 
ready, at  the  third  I  shall  fix  my  scythe  crosswise, 
and  then  woe  to  the  bourgeois.  These  rumours  filled 
the  town  with  alarm,  and  certain  rich  persons  were 
known  to  be  marked  out  for  the  fury  of  the  mob,  and 


404  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds, 

among  them  were  Madame  Chambert  and  her  son. 
On  the  night  before  the  affray,  their  servants  re- 
ceived a  warning  that  if  they  tried  to  defend  their 
master  and  mistress,  they  would  be  killed ;  but 
there  were  at  least  two  who  disregarded  the  threat, 
a  man-servant  name  Bourgeau  and  Madeleine 
Blanchet. 

On  the  morning  of  the  14th  of  January  was  heard 
that  sound  of  dread,  —  the  tocsin.  The  Republicans 
were  already  collected,  and  began  by  sacking  a  great 
manufactory,  and  then  falling  upon  the  various  ob- 
noxious establishments  in  the  town,  becoming  more 
savage  with  every  success.  There  was  no  resist- 
ance ;  the  citizens  shut  themselves  up  in  their 
houses,  without  attempting  to  unite  to  defend  them- 
selves, and  in  a  short  time  the  whole  town  was  at 
the  mercy  of  the  insurgents.  After  many  acts  of 
plunder  and  cruelty  had  taken  place,  the  raging  pop- 
ulace came  to  M.  Chambeffs  house,  and  speedily 
breaking  in,  a  man  named  Yenin  led  the  way  into 
the  drawing-room,  where  M,  Chambert  was  trying 
to  encourage  his  aged  mother,  and  the  two  servants 
were  with  them.  Madeleine  was  so  much  terrified 
that  she  fainted  away  upon  hearing  Yenin  speak 
insolentlv  to  her  master  ;  Bourgeau  went  up  to  him 
and  knocked  him  down  ;  but  as  others  of  the  furi- 
ous mob  came  rushing  in,  Bourgeau's  courage  for- 
sook him,  and  he  tied.  His  master  had  fetched  his 
gun.  and  shot  Yenin.  who  had  risen  for  another  at- 
tack ;  but  this  was  the  signal  for  the  whole  rage  of 
the  multitude  to  be  directed  against  him,  and  he  too 
fled,  only  to  be  followed  by  the  savage  populace, 
who  hunted  him  from  room  to  room,  even  to  the 
next  house,  where  he  fell  under  a  multitude  of  blows, 
crying  out,  "  Mercy,  friends  !  "  "  You  have  no 
friends,"  answered  a  voice  from  the  crowd,  the  last 
sound  that  met  the  ears  of  the  dying  man. 

Madeleine  had,  in  the  mean  time,  recovered  from 


The  Monthyon  Prizes.  405 

her  swoon,  recalled  by  the  shrieks  and  sobs  of  her 
poor  old  mistress,  mingled  with  the  oaths,  impreca- 
tions, and  abusive  threats  of  the  murderous  crowd. 
She  saw  the  room  thronged  with  these  wild  figures, 
their  blouses  stained  with  wine  and  blood,  weapons 
of  all  sorts  in  their  hands,  triumphant  fury  in  their 
faces.  Her  first  endeavor,  on  regaining  her  senses, 
was  to  push  through  them  to  the  side  of  the  old  la- 
dy, whom  they  had  not  yet  personally  attacked,  and 
whose  terror  seemed  for  the  moment  lessened  by 
the  sight  of  her  maid's  kindly  face.  Then,  as  there 
was  no  certainty  that  even  age  and  womanhood 
would  long  be  a  protection,  Madeleine  tried  to  re- 
move her,  and  supporting  her  with  one  arm,  she 
made  her  way  with  the  other,  struggling  on  through 
blows,  pushes,  and  trampling  feet,  till  she  had  rath- 
er carried  than  led  Madame  Chambert  into  the 
court;  but  here  was  the  greatest  danger  of  all.  See- 
ing the  lady  escaping,  the  mob  outside  fell  upon  her, 
blows  were  aimed  at  the  two  defenceless  women, 
and  the  mistress  fell  down,  while  the  ruffians  rushed 
at  them  with  cries  of  "  Death  !  death  !  "  —  the  same 
shouts  with  which  they  had  hunted  the  son. 

"Go, — go,  my  poor  girl!"  faintly  murmured 
Madame  Chambert.  "  I  must  die  here !  Go 
away  !  " 

No,  indeed  !  Madeleine  knelt  over  her,  calling 
out,  "  You  shall  not  kill  my  mistress  till  you  have 
killed  me  !  " 

A  man  brandished  a  cutlass  over  her,  and  several 
frantic  women  struck  her,  even  whilst,  with  out- 
stretched arms,  she  parried  all  the  strokes  at  her 
mistress,  all  the  time  appealing  to  their  better  feel- 
ings, and  showing  them  the  cowardly  barbarity  of 
thus  wreaking  their  vengeance  on  a  helpless  old 
woman.  Her  words,  and  still  more  her  self-devo- 
tion, touched  two  of  the  men,  whose  human  hearts 
returned  to  them  sufficiently  to  make   them  assist 


406  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

her  in  withstanding  the  ferocity  of  the  rest.  They 
helped  her  to  lift  up  Madame  Chambert,  and 
guarded  her  on  her  way  to  a  friend's  house,  where 
a  hiding-place  was  found  for  the  mistress.  But  the 
maid  would  not  stay  there  ;  she  recollected  her  mis- 
tress's property,  and  hurried  back  into  the  midst  of 
the  mob  to  save  all  she  could,  seizing  on  the  plate 
and  other  valuables  whenever  she  saw  them,  — 
sometimes  snatching  them  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
plunderers,  or  pouncing  on  their  heaps  of  spoil, — 
and  then,  whenever  she  had  rescued  anything,  de- 
positing it  in  the  friendly  house,  and  then  going 
back  for  another  prize.  She  continued  to  go  and 
come  for  several  hours,  until  all  that  she  had  not 
been  able  to  save  had  been  entirely  destroyed.  All 
this  she  considered  as  the  simplest  duty,  and  mere 
fulfilment  of  her  trust  as  a  servant. 

When  order  was  restored,  and  the  rioters  were 
tried  for  their  atrocities,  she  was  called  in  as  a  wit- 
ness, and  asked  what  she  had  seen.  She  replied 
shortly  and  clearly,  but  said  not  a  word  of  herself. 

"  But,"  said  the  President,  "  witnesses  tell  us  that 
you  covered  your  mistress  with  your  own  body,  and 
saved  her  from  the  blows  of  the  murderers.  Is  it 
true  ? " 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered,  quietly. 

"  You  were  heard  to  declare,  that  they  should  kill 
you  before  they  should  kill  your  mistress.  Is  it 
true  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  again  she  said;  and  that  was  all, — 
not  a  sentence  of  self-exaltation,  or  of  the  false 
modesty  of  self-depreciation,  passed  her  lips. 

"  If,"  said  the  President,  after  hearing  all  the  evi- 
dence, "  there  had  been  only  twenty  men  at  Buzan- 
qais  with  the  heart  of  that  woman,  none  of  the  dis- 
asters we  deplore  would  have  taken  place." 

And  yet  Madeleine  had  begun  by  fainting ;  thus 
showing  how  little  sensibility  of  nerves  has  to  do 


The  Mouthy  on  Prizes.  407 

with  that  true  moral  courage  whose  source  is  in  the 
soul  alone,  —  as  the  Academician  said  who  had  the 
pleasant  task  of  relating  her  exploits,  when,  at  the 
next  meeting  of  the  Academy,  she  received  a  gold 
medal,  and  an  extra  prize  of  5,000  francs. 

Almost  at  the  same  time  there  came  to  light  an 
act  of  generosity,  of  the  most  unusual  description, 
on  the  part  of  a  servant,  and  not  even  towards  her 
own  master.  Fanny  Muller,  a  young  girl  in  one  of 
the  semi-German  departments  of  France,  was  be- 
trothed to  Jean  Pierre  Wat,  a  youth  in  her  native 
village,  before  they  partedj  in  order  to  go  into  ser- 
vice, and  save  enough  to  marry  upon.  Fanny  be- 
came a  maid  at  a  hotel  in  Paris,  and  was  there 
much  esteemed  for  the  modesty  and  propriety  of 
her  conduct.  In  1830,  an  Italian  officer  came  to 
the  inn, — an  elderly  man,  exiled  from  his  country 
for  political  causes,  and  suffering  acutely  from  a 
frightful  wound  received  sixteen  years  previously, 
when  he  was  serving  under  Napoleon  I.  Every 
day  Fanny  was  called  in  to  assist  the  surgeon  in 
dressing  the  wound,  and  her  tender  heart  made  her 
a  kindly  nurse,  until  the  poor  soldier  had  exhausted 
all  his  means,  and  the  landlord  was  about  to  turn 
him  out  in  a  state  of  utter  destitution.  Shocked  at 
his  condition,  Fanny  offered  him  her  savings  out  of 
her  wages  of  thirty-five  francs  a  month,  with  which 
he  took  a  lodging,  and  there  tried  to  maintain  him- 
self by  giving  music-lessons.  He  was  joined  by 
his  son,  a  young  boy,  but  soon  after  fell  so  ill  again, 
that  he  could  no  longer  give  lessons.  Fanny  came 
again  to  the  rescue  ;  and  when  her  little  hoard  was 
exhausted,  she  borrowed.  Just  then  her  betrothed, 
Wat,  came  to  Paris,  with  his  savings  of  2,000 
francs,  and  claimed  her  promise.  She  told  him  all, 
and,  —  wonderful  to  relate,  —  he  was  a  like-minded 
man  ;  he  freely  gave  his  little  fortune  into  her  hands 
to  pay  the  debt,  and,  putting  off  the  marriage,  he 


408  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

further  assisted  her  in  supporting  the  invalid  and 
the  boy.  At  last,  after  fifteen  years  of  this  patient 
generosity,  the  poor  old  officer  died  of  the  effects 
of  the  amputation  of  the  injured  limb  ;  and  the  cler- 
gyman of  the  district,  knowing  the  circumstances, 
recommended  the  betrothed  pair  for  the  Monthyon 
prize,  as  a  dowry  that  might  at  length  enable  them 
to  enjoy  the  happiness  that  they  had  so  generously 
deferred. 

Hosts  of  other  deeds  of  pure  charity  and  benefi- 
cence among  the  poorest  of  the  poor  have  come  to 
light  among  the  records  of  these  prizes.  Here  is  a 
memorial  sent  in  1823  by  the  curate  of  the  parish  of 
St.  Jean  and  St.  Francois,  at  Paris  :  — 

The  wife  of  Jacquemin,  a  water-carrier,  living  at 
No.  17,  Rue  de  Quatre  Fils,  au  Marais,  father  of 
three  children,  one  aged  five  years,  dumb  and  infirm, 
only  earning  from  thirty-five  to  forty  sous  a  day, 
came,  some  days  ago,  to  ask  help  for  a  helpless,  in- 
digent woman,  maimed  of  two  fingers,  and  incapable 
of  gaining  a  livelihood. 

"  Where  does  the  woman  live  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  With  us." 

"  How  long  has  she  been  with  you  ?  " 

"  Ten  months  :  this  is  the  eleventh." 

"What  does  she  pay  you  by  the  day  or  month  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"What!  nothing?" 

"  Not  as  much  as  you  could  put  in  your  eye." 

"Has  she  relief? " 

"Yes  ;  and  so  have  I.  I  get  bread  for  my  chil- 
dren. Since  she  has  been  with  us,  I  weaken  the 
porridge,  and  she  eats  it  with  us." 

"  You  have  no  means  of  helping  others,  unless 
she  has  promised  to  make  it  up  to  you." 

"  She  never  promised  me  anything  but  her  pray- 
ers." 

"  Does  not  your  husband  complain  ? " 


The  Monthyon  Prizes.  409 

"  My  husband  is  a  man  of  few  words.  He  says 
nothing  ;  he  is  so  kind." 

"  Does  he  not  go  to  the  public-house  ?  " 

"  Never ;  he  works  himself  to  death  for  his  chil- 
dren." 

"  Ten  months  is  a  long  time." 

"  She  was  out  in  the  street,  and  begged  me  to 
shelter  her  for  two  or  three  days  ;  and  Jacquemin  and 
I  could  never  have  the  heart  to  turn  her  out.  He 
says,  besides,  that  one  must  do  as  one  would  be 
done  by." 

"  But,  my  good  woman,  what  is  your  lodging  ?  " 

"Two  rooms." 

"  What  is  your  rent  ?  " 

"It  was  a  hundred  and  twenty  francs  ;  but  it  has 
been  raised  twenty,  which  makes  eight  sous  a  day." 

"  I  think  you  should  be  asking  charity  for  your- 
self." 

"I  have  already  told  you,  M.  le  Cure,  that  I  have 
bread  for  my  children.  I  ask  for  nothing  for  myself. 
Thank  God,  as  long  as  my  husband  and  I  can  work, 
I  should  be  ashamed  to  beg  for  ourselves  !  " 

"  Well,  good  woman,  here  are  ten  francs  for —  " 

"  O  how  happy  poor  Madame  Petrel  will  be  !  " 

Tears  of  joy  came  into  this  charitable  woman's 
eyes.  I  had  meant  the  ten  francs  for  herself ;  but  I 
did  not  undeceive  her,  —  the  mistake  was  such  an 
honor  to  her. 

"  Go  and  tell  the  widow  Petrel,  who  owes  you  so 
much,  to  get  two  petitions  drawn  up  ;  one  for  the 
Grand  Almoner,  the  other  for  the  Prefect,  for  a 
place  in  the  hospital.     I  will  present  them." 

And  the  widow  was  placed  in  the  hospital,  while 
the  good  Jacquemins  received  a  prize. 

There  was  a  more  heroic  touch  in  the  story  of 
Madeleine  Saunier,  who  was  born  in  1802,  at  St.  Eti- 
enne  de  Varenne,  in  the  department  of  the  Rhone. 
This  girl  had,  even  when  a  child,  sent  out  to  watch 


410  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

cattle  In  the  fields,  been  in  the  habit  of  sharing  the 
meals  she  carried  out  with  her  with  the  poor,  only 
begging  them  to  keep  the  secret.  The  privations 
she  imposed  on  herself  had  a  serious  effect  on  her 
health  and  growth  ;  but  still,  when  she  grew  up,  her 
whole  soul  was  fixed  on  charity  ;  and  though  she 
had  to  work  for  her  own  support,  she  still  contrived 
to  effect  marvels  for  others. 

A  poor  blind  widow,  with  an  idiot  daughter,  lived 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  her  cottage  ;  but  for  fifteen 
years  Madeleine  never  failed  to  walk  to  them,  to 
feed  them,  set  their  house  in  order,  and  cheer  them 
up  to  wait  for  her  coming  the  next  day.  About  as 
far  off  in  another  direction  was  a  poor  girl  in  such  a 
horrible  state  of  leprosy,  that —  shocking  to  relate  — 
her  own  family  had  abandoned  her,  and  for  eighteen 
months  she  lay  in  an  outhouse,  where  no  one  came 
near  her  but  Madeleine  Saunier,  who  came  twice  a 
day  to  give  her  the  little  nourishment  she  could  take, 
and  to  dress  her  frightful  wounds  ;  and  at  last  she 
died  in  the  arms  of  this  her  only  friend. 

In  1840,  Madeleine  was  nearly  drowned  in  trying 
to  cross  a  swelling  torrent  that  lay  between  her  and 
one  of  her  daily  pensioners,  and  when  she  was 
blamed  for  the  rashness,  she  only  said,  "  I  could  not 
help  it ;  I  could  not  go  yesterday,  I  was  obliged  to 
go  to-day." 

In  the  course  of  a  cold  winter,  Madeleine  was 
nursing  a  dying  woman  named  Mancel,  who  lived 
on  the  hillside,  in  a  hovel  more  like  a  wild  beast's 
den  than  the  home  of  a  human  creature.  Towards 
the  end  of  a  long  night,  Madeleine  had  lighted  a  few 
green  sticks  to  endeavor  to  lessen  the  intense  cold, 
when  the  miserable  door,  which  was  only  closed  by 
a  stone  on  the  floor,  was  pushed  aside,  and  through 
the  smoke,  against  the  snow,  the  dark  outline  of  a 
wolf  was  seen,  ready  to  leap  into  the  room.  All 
Madeleine  could  do  was  to  spring  to  the  door,  and 


The  Monthyon  Prizes.  411 

hold  it  fast,  pulling  up  everything  she  could  to  keep 
it  shut,  as  the  beast  bounded  against  it,  while  she 
shouted  and  called  in  all  the  tones  she  could  assume, 
in  hopes  that  the  wolf  would  fancy  the  garrison  more 
numerous.  Whether  he  were  thus  deceived  or  not, 
he  was  hungry  enough  to  besiege  her  till  her  strength 
was  nearly  exhausted,  and  then  took  himself  off  at 
daylight. 

A  few  hours  after  the  sick  woman  died,  but  Mad- 
eleine could  not  bear  to  leave  the  poor  corpse  to  the 
mercy  of  the  wolf,  and  going  to  the  nearest  cottage 
implored  permission  to  place  it  there  till  the  burial 
could  take  place.  Then  again,  over  the  snow  into 
the  wolf-haunted  solitude,  back  she  went ;  she  took 
the  body  on  her  shoulders,  and,  bending  under  her 
burthen,  she  safely  brought  it  to  the  cottage,  where 
she  fell  on  her  knees,  and  thanked  God  for  her 
safety.  The  next  day,  the  wolf's  footsteps  on  the 
snow  showed  that  he  had  spent  the  night  in  prowl- 
ing round  the  hut,  and  that  its  frail  defence  had  not 
excluded  him  from  entering  it. 

France,  with  all  its  faults,  has  always  been  dis- 
tinguished for  the  pure,  disinterested  honor  it  shows 
to  high  merit  for  its  own  sake,  and  Madeleine  had 
already  received  a  testimony  of  respect  from  good 
Queen  Amelie,  before  the  Monthyon  prize  was  de- 
creed to  her. 

One  of  the  prizes  was  given  to  Etienne  Lucas,  a 
little  boy  of  six  and  a  half,  who  saw  a  child  of 
two  fall  into  the  river  Eure.  He  knew  the  danger, 
for  one  of  his  sisters  had  lately  been  drowned  ;  but 
running  to  the  spot,  he  waded  about  fifteen  paces  in 
the  stream,  caught  the  little  one,  and  drew  him  to 
the  bank,  keeping  his  head  carefully  above  water. 
But  the  bank  was  too  steep  for  the  little  fellow  to 
climb,  and  he  could  only  stand  screaming  till  a  man 
came  and  lifted  out  both.  A  gold  medal  was  given 
to  him,  and  a  scholarship  at  an  educational  establish- 


412 


A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 


ment  Indeed,  the  rescuers  from  water,  from  fire, 
and  all  the  accidents  to  which  human  life  is  lia- 
ble, would  be  too  many  to  attempt  to  record,  and 
having  described  a  few,  we  must  leave  our  readers 
to  seek  the  rest  for  themselves  in  that  roll  of  golden 
deeds,  the  records  of  the  Prix  de  Vertu. 


THE  LOSS  OF  THE  DRAKE  AND  THE  MAGPIE. 
1826. 

AMONG  those  men  who  have  performed  the 
most  gallant  and  self-devoted  deeds  in  the 
most  simple  and  natural  way,  we  should  especially 
reckon  captains  in  the  navy.  With  them  it  is  an 
understood  rule,  that,  happen  what  may.  the  com- 
manding officer  is  to  be  the  last  to  secure  his  own 
life,  — the  last  to  leave  the  ship  in  extremity.  Many 
and  many  a  brave  life  has  thus  been  given,  but  the 
spirit  nurtured  by  such  examples  is  worth  infinitely 
more  than  even  the  continued  service  of  the  persons 
concerned  could  have  been.  And  for  themselves,  — 
this  world  is  not  all,  and  have  we  not  read,  that  "  He 
who  will  save  his  life  shall  lose  it,  and  he  who  will 
lose  his  life  shall  save  it  ? " 

The  Newfoundland  coast  is  a  peculiarly  danger- 
ous one,  from  the  dense  fogs  that  hang  over  the 
water,  caused  by  the  warm  waters  of  the  Gulf- 
streim  ;  which,  rushing  up  from  the  equator,  here 
come  in  contact  with  the  cold  currents  from  the  pole, 
and  send  up  such  heavy  vapor,  that  day  can  some- 
times scarcely  be  discerned  from  night,  and  even  at 
little  more  than  arm's  length  objects  cannot  be  dis- 
tinguished, while  from  without  the  mist  looks  like  a 
thick  sheer  precipice  of  snow. 

In  such  a  fearful  fog,  on  the  morning  of  the  20th 
of  June,    1822,  the  small  schooner,  Drake,  struck 


414  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

suddenly  upon  a  rock,  and  almost  immediately  fell 
over  on  her  side,  the  waves  breaking  over  her.  Her 
commander,  Captain  Baker,  ordered  her  masts  to 
be  cut  away,  in  hopes  of  lightening  her  so  that  she 
might  right  herself,  but  in  vain.  One  boat  was 
washed  away,  another  upset  as  soon  as  she  was 
launched,  and  there  only  remained  the  small  boat 
called  the  captain's  gig.  The  ship  was  fast  break- 
ing up,  and  the  only  hope  was  that  the  crew  might 
reach  a  small  rock,  the  point  of  which  could  be  seen 
above  the  waves,  at  a  distance  that  the  fog  made  it 
difficult  to  calculate,  but  it  was  hoped  might  not  be 
too  great.  A  man  named  Lennard  seized  a  rope,  and 
sprang  into  the  sea,  but  the  current  was  too  strong 
for  him.  he  was  carried  away  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion, and  was  obliged  to  be  dragged  on  board  again- 
Then  the  boatswain,  whose  name  was  Turner,  vol- 
unteered to  make  the  attempt  in  the  gig,  taking  a 
rope  fastened  round  his  body.  The  crew  cheered 
him  after  the  gallant  fashion  of  British  seamen, 
though  they  were  all  hanging  on  by  the  ropes  to  the 
ship,  with  the  sea  breaking  over  them,  and  threat- 
ening every  moment  to  dash  the  vessel  to  pieces. 
Anxiously  they  watched  Turner  in  his  boat,  as  he 
made  his  way  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  rock. 
There  it  was  lifted  high  and  higher  by  a  huge 
wave,  then  hurled  down  on  the  rock  and  shattered 
to  pieces  ;  but  the  brave  boatswain  was  safe,  and 
contrived  to  keep  his  hold  of  the  rope  and  to  scram- 
ble upon  the  stone. 

Another  great  wave,  almost  immediately  after, 
heaved  up  the  remains  of  the  ship,  and  dashed 
her  down  close  to  this  rock  of  safety,  and  Captain 
Baker,  giving  up  the  hope  of  saving  her,  commanded 
the  crew  to  leave  her  and  make  their  way  to  it.  For 
the  first  time  he  met  with  disobedience.  With  one 
voice  they  refused  to  leave  the  wreck  unless  they 
saw  him  before  them  in  safety.     Calmly  he  renewed 


The  Loss  of  the  Drake.  415 

his  orders,  saying  that  his  life  was  the  last  and  least 
consideration  ;  and  they  were  obliged  to  obey,  leav- 
ing the  ship  in  as  orderly  a  manner  as  if  they  were 
going  ashore  in  harbor.  But  they  were  so  be- 
numbed with  cold,  that  many  were  unable  to  climb 
the  rock,  and  were  swept  off  by  the  waves,  among 
them  the  lieutenant.  Captain  Baker  last  of  all 
joined  his  crew,  and  it  was  then  discovered  that 
they  were  at  no  great  distance  from  the  land,  but 
tint  the  tide  was  rising,  and  that  the  rock  on  which 
they  stood  would  assuredly  be  covered  at  high  wa- 
ter, and  the  heavy  mist  and  lonely  coast  gave  scarce- 
ly a  hope  that  help  would  come  ere  the  slowly  ris- 
ing waters  must  devour  them. 

Still  there  was  no  murmur,  and  again  the  gallant 
boatswain,  who  still  held  the  rope,  volunteered  to 
make  an  effort  to  save  his  comrades.  With  a  few 
words  of  earnest  prayer,  he  secured  the  rope  round 
his  waist,  struggled  hard  with  the  waves,  and 
reached  the  shore,  whence  he  sent  back  the  news 
of  his  safety  by  a  loud  cheer  to  his  comrades. 

There  was  now  a  line  of  rope  between  the  shore 
and  the  rock,  just  long  enough  to  reach  from  one  to 
the  other  when  held  by  a  man  at  each  end.  The 
only  hope  of  safety  lay  in  working  a  desperate  pas- 
sage along  this  rope  to  the  land.  The  spray  was 
already  beating  over  those  who  were  crouched  on 
the  rock,  but  not  a  man  moved  till  called  by  name 
by  Captain  Baker,  and  then  it  is  recorded  that  not 
one,  so  summoned,  stirred  till  he  had  used  his  best 
entreaties  to  the  captain  to  take  his  place  ;  but  the 
captain  had  but  one  reply,  —  "I  will  never  leave  the 
rock  until  every  soul  is  safe." 

Forty-four  stout  sailors  had  made  their  perilous 
way  to  shore.  The  forty-fifth  looked  round  and  saw 
a  poor  woman  lying  helpless,  almost  lifeless,  on  the 
rock,  unable  to  move.  He  took  her  in  one  arm,  and 
with  the  other  clung  to  the  rope.    Alas  !  the  double 


4i 6  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

weight  was  more  than  the  much-tried  rope  could 
bear  ;  it  broke  half-way,  and  the  poor  woman  and 
the  sailor  were  both  swallowed  in  the  eddy.  Cap- 
tain Baker  and  three  seamen  remained,  utterly  cut 
off  from  hope  or  help.  The  men  in  best  condition 
hurried  off  in  search  of  help,  found  a  farm-house, 
obtained  a  rope,  and  hastened  back  ;  but  long  ere 
their  arrival,  the  waters  had  flowed  above  the  head 
of  the  brave  and  faithful  captain.  All  the  crew  could 
do  was,  with  full  hearts,  to  write  a  most  touching 
letter  to  an  officer,  who  had  once  sailed  with  thiem 
in  the  Drake,  to  entreat  him  to  represent  their  cap- 
tain's conduct  to  the  Lords  of  the  Admiralty.  "  In 
fact,"  said  the  letter,  "during  the  whole  business  he 
proved  himself  a  man,  whose  name  and  last  conduct 
ought  ever  to  be  held  in  the  highest  estimation,  by 
a  crew  who  feel  it  their  duty  to  ask,  from  the  Lords 
Commissioners  of  the  Admiralty,  that  which  they 
otherwise  have  not  the  means  of  obtaining  ;  that  is, 
a  public  and  lasting  record  of  the  lion-hearted,  gen- 
erous, and  very  unexampled  way  in  which  our  late 
noble  commander  sacrificed  his  life,  in  the  evening 
of  the  23d  of  June."  This  letter  was  signed  by 
the  whole  surviving  crew  of  the  Drake,  and  in 
consequence,  a  tablet  in  the  dockyard  chapel  at 
Portsmouth  commemorates  the  heroism  of  Captain 
Charles  Baker. 

No  wonder  that  the  newlv-escaped  crew,  who  had 
watched  the  grave,  resolute  face,  and  heard  the  calm, 
firm  answers,  felt  as  if  such  bravery  were  unex- 
ampled, and  vet— thanks  to  Him,  who  braced  the 
hearts  of  our' seamen  — it  is  such  fortitude  as  has 
been  repeated  a^ain  and  again  upon  broken  ships, 
and  desolate  rocks,  and  freezing  icebergs,  among 
wild  winds  and  wilder  waves. 

From  the  cold  fo°;s  of  Newfoundland,  let  us  turn 
to  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  tracts  of  old 
ocean,  that  of  the  Carribean  Sea,  where  the  intense 


The  Loss  of  the  Magpie.  417 

blue  of  the  tropical  sky  is  reflected  in  a  sea  of  still 
deeper  blue,  sparkling  and  dimpling  under  the  full 
power  of  the  sunbeams,  and  broken  by  the  wooded 
islands,  forming  the  most  exquisite  summer  scenery 
in  the  world. 

But  these  most  beautiful  of  seas  are  also  the  most 
treacherous.  This  is  the  especial  home  of  the  hur- 
ricane, and  of  brief  furious  squalls,  that  rise  almost 
without  warning,  except  from  slight  indications  in 
the  sky,  which  only  an  experienced  eye  can  detect ; 
and  from  the  sudden  sinking  of  the  mercury  in  the 
barometer ;  but  this  often  does  not  take  place  till  so 
immediately  before  the  storm,  that  there  is  barely  a 
minute  in  which  to  prepare  a  vessel  for  an  encounter 
with  this  most  terrific  of  her  enemies. 

In  these  seas,  in  the  August  of  1826,  the  little 
schooner  Magpie,  was  cruising,  under  the  command 
of  a  young  lieutenant  named  Edward  Smith,  in 
search  of  a  piratical  vessel,  which  had  for  some  time 
been  the  terror  of  the  western  shores  of  the  island 
of  Cuba.  The  26th  had  been  a  remarkably  sultry 
day,  and  towards  evening  the  Magpie  lay  becalmed 
off  the  Colorados  rocks,  when,  at  about  eight  o'clock, 
a  slight  breeze  sprung  up  from  the  west,  and  the 
sails  were  spread,  but  in  less  than  an  hour  the  wind 
shifted  to  the  southward,  and  a  small  dark  lurid 
vapor  was  seen  under  the  moon.  This  was  the 
well-known  signal  of  coming  peril,  and  instantly  Mr. 
Smith  was  summoned  on  deck,  the  sails  furled,  and 
the  vessel  made  as  ready  as  human  skill  could  make 
her  for  her  deadly  encounter.  The  cloud  was  rapidly 
increasing,  and  for  a  few  seconds  there  was  a  perfect 
stillness,  till  upon  this  came  a  rushing,  roaring  sound, 
distant  at  first,  but,  in  the  space  of  a  breath,  nearer 
and  nearer ;  while  the  sea,  still  as  a  lake  elsewhere, 
was  before  the  black  wall  that  moved  headlong  on, 
lashed  into  one  white  sheet  of  foam,  flying  up  like 
flakes  of  snow.  It  was  upon  them  !  The  lieuten- 
27 


41 8  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds, 

ant's  voice  was  heard  calling  to  cut  away  the  masts  ; 
but  even  then  the  ship  was  on  her  side,  and  in  a  few 
seconds  more  she  was  gone  from  beneath  the  crew ! 
A  gunners  mate,  named  Meldrum,  saw  for  one  mo- 
ment, by  the  light  of  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  the 
faces  of  his  comrades  struggling  in  the  water,  then 
he  swam  clear  of  the  eddy  made  by  the  sinking  ship, 
found  something  floating,  and  grasping  at  it,  obtained 
first  one  oar  and  then  another.  The  gust,  having 
done  its  work,  had  rushed  upon  its  way,  and  the  sea 
was  as  still  and  calm  as  if  its  late  fury  had  been  only 
a  dream. 

Meldrum  listened  breathlessly  for  some  sign  of 
his  shipmates,  and  presently,  to  his  great  relief, 
heard  a  voice  asking  if  any  one  was  near.  It  was 
that  of  Mr.  Smith,  who,  with  six  more,  was  clinging 
to  a  boat  which  had  floated  up  clear  of  the  ship.  So 
many  rushed  to  her  in  their  first  joy,  that  she  at  once 
capsized,  and  though  all  the  ship's  company,  twenty- 
four  in  number,  were  .  clinging  to  her,  some  were 
stretched  across  the  keel,  and  she  was  thus  of 
course  utterly  useless  except  as  a  float. 

Mr.  Smith  ordered  them  all  to  quit  their  position, 
and  allow  her  to  be  righted.  They  obeyed,  and  he 
then  placed  two  in  her  to  bale  out  the  water  with 
their  hats,  directing  the  others  to  support  them- 
selves by  hanging  round  the  gunwales  till  the  boat 
could  be  lightened  enough  to  admit  them.  Just  as 
the  baling  had  commenced,  one  of  the  men  cried  out 
that  he  saw  the  fin  of  a  shark,  and  the  horror  of  be- 
coming a  prey  to  the  monster  made  the  men  forget 
everything ;  they  struggled  to  get  into  the  boat,  and 
upset  it  again  !  Again,  however,  the  lieutenant's 
firmness  prevailed,  the  boat  was  righted,  and  he 
bade  the  men  splash  the  water  with  their  legs  by 
way  of  frightening  away  the  enemy.  All  went  on 
well,  and  at  length  the  boat  was  able  to  hold  four 
men,  —  morning  had  come,  and  hope  with  it,  when 
at  about  ten  o'clock,  the  cry,  "  A  shark !  a  shark  !  " 


The  Loss  of  the  Magpie.  419 

was  renewed,  and  at  least  fifteen  of  these  crea- 
tures were  among  them.  Once  more,  in  the  panic, 
the  boat  was  overturned,  but  after  the  first  mo- 
ment, the  calm,  unflinching  voice  of  Edward  Smith 
recalled  the  men  to  their  resolution  ;  the  boat  was 
righted,  the  two  men  replaced,  and  the  others  still 
hung  outside,  where  the  sharks,  at  first  in  a  playful 
mood,  came  rubbing  against  the  men,  and  even 
passing  over  the  boat  At  last  a  cry  of  agony  came 
from  one  of  the  men,  whose  leg  had  been  seized  by 
a  shark,  and  blood  once  tasted,  there  was  little  more 
hope  ;  yet  still  Smith  kept  his  men  steady,  as  hold- 
ing by  the  stern,  he  cheered  the  balers,  and  exhorted 
the  rest  to  patience  till  the  boat  could  safely  hold 
them.  But  the  monsters  closed  on  their  prey ; 
shriek  after  shriek  and  reddening  water  showed 
when  one  after  another  was  torn  from  the  boat,  and 
at  last  but  six  remained,  when,  as  the  lieutenant 
looked  into  the  boat  for  a  second,  he  ceased  splash- 
ing, and  at  that  moment  one  leg  was  bitten  off.  Still, 
in  order  not  to  startle  his  men,  he  endured  the  an- 
guish without  a  cry  or  moan,  and  they  were  not 
aware  of  what  had  happened  till  the  other  limb  was 
seized  by  the  ravenous  teeth,  when,  with  a  groan 
he  could  not  repress,  his  hands  quitted  their  hold. 
Two  of  the  men  were  in  time  to  grasp  him  and  lift 
him  into  the  boat,  and  there,  mangled  and  convulsed 
with  agony  as  he  lay,  he  still  turned  his  whole  mind 
to  the  safety  of  his  crew.  Calling  to  him  a  lad 
named  Wilson,  whom,  as  the  youngest  and  there- 
fore the  most  sheltered  from  danger,  he  thought  the 
most  likely  to  survive,  he  desired  him  to  tell  the 
Admiral  that  he  was  going  to  Cape  Ontario  in 
search  of  the  pirate  when  the  disaster  occurred. 
"  Tell  him,"  he  added,  "  that  my  men  have  done 
their  duty,  and  that  no  blame  is  attached  to  them. 
I  have  but  one  favor  to  ask,  and  that  is,  that  he  will 
promote  Meldrum  to  be  a  gunner." 

He  then  shook  each  man  by  the  hand  and  bade 


420  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

him  farewell,  with  a  cheering  word  for  all  as  long  as 
he  could  speak  ;  but,  as  the  long  day  of  burning  sun, 
without  food  or  water,  passed  by,  his  strength  failed, 
and  he  had  lost  the  power  of  speech,  when  at  sun- 
set, on  another  alarm  of  the  sharks,  a  startled  move- 
ment of  the  men  caused  the  boat  to  be  again  upset, 
and  his  sufferings  were  ended  in  the  waves. 

The  brief  grave  records  of  courts-martial  speak 
only  of  the  facts  that  concern  the  service,  and  they  do 
not  tell  us  of  the  one  anchor  of  hope  that  could  alone 
have  braced  that  dying  sailor's  soul  to  that  unmur- 
muring patience  through  the  anguish,  thirst,  and 
heat  of  that  tropical  day ;  but  no  one  can  doubt 
that  a  man,  who  thought  so  much  of  others,  so  little 
of  himself,  whose  soul  was  on  his  duty,  and  who 
bore  the  extremity  of  agony  so  long  and  uncom- 
plaining!}', must  have  been  upheld  by  that  which 
alone  can  give  true  strength.  Indeed,  we  know  that 
Edward  Smith  was  one  of  the  best  loved  and  most 
promising  of  the  sons  of  a  Hampshire  family, 
brought  up  by  a  widowed  mother,  and  that  he  was 
especially  valued  by  the  Admiral  on  the  station,  Sir 
Lawrence  Halstead. 

The  only  officer  now  left  was  a  young  mate  named 
Maclean,  who,  with  the  spirit  of  his  lieutenant,  again 
persuaded  the  men  to  right  the  boat,  which  was  now 
able  to  hold  them  all,  for  only  four  were  left,  him- 
self, the  gunner's  mate,  Meldrum,  the  boy  Wilson, 
and  one  more.  Twenty  hours  of  struggling  in  the 
water,  with,  latterly,  the  sun  broiling  their  heads, 
and  not  a  morsel  of  food  nor  a  drop  of  drink,  had 
however,  nearly  worn  them  out ;  the  oars  were  lost, 
and  though  the  approach  of  night  rendered  the  air 
cooler,  yet  the  darkness  was  unwelcome,  as  it  took 
away  all  chance  of  being  seen  and  picked  up  by 
some  passing  vessel.  At  about  three  o'clock  at 
night,  poor  young  Wilson  and  the  other  man  lost 
their  senses  from  the  sufferings  they  had  overgone, 
and  both  jumped  overboard  and  perished. 


The  Loss  of  the  Magpie  Schooner.         42 1 

Maclean  and  Meldrum  collected  themselves  after 
the  shock,  and  steadily  continued  to  bale  out  the 
water,  till  the  boat  was  so  nearly  dry,  that  they 
could  lie  down  in  her  ;  and  so  spent  were  they,  that 
deep  sleep  came  to  them  both  ;  nor  did  they  wake 
till  the  sun  was  glaring  upon  them  far  above  the 
horizon.  What  a  wakening  !  —  alone  in  a  frail  boat, 
their  companions  gone,  water  all  round,  and  swarm- 
ing with  the  cruel  sharks,  —  the  sun  burning  over- 
head, and  themselves  now  thirty-six  hours  without 
food,  and  parched  with  the  deadly  thirst,  which  they 
had  the  resolution  not  to  attempt  to  slake  with  salt- 
water, well  knowing  that  the  momentary  relief  would 
be  followed  by  worse  suffering,  perhaps  by  frenzy. 
They  durst  not  even  speak  to  one  another,  but  sat, 
one  in  the  bow,  one  in  the  stern,  in  silent  patience, 
waiting  for  death. 

Hours  passed  away  in  this  manner  ;  but  towards 
eight  in  the  morning  a  white  speck  was  seen  in  the 
distance,  and  both  opened  their  parched  lips  to 
shout  "  A  sail !  — a  sail !  "  They  shook  hands  with 
tears  of  joy  and  hope,  and  strained  their  eyes  as  the 
vessel  came  nearer,  and  the  dark  hull  could  be  seen 
above  the  horizon.  Nearer,  nearer,  —  scarcely  half  a 
mile  from  them  was  the  vessel,  when  alas  !  she  altered 
her  course  :  she  was  sailing  away.  They  shouted 
their  loudest,  and  waved  their  jackets  ;  but  in  vain, 
—  they  were  unseen,  and  were  being  left  to  perish  ! 

The  gunner's  mate  now  rose  up.  He  was  the 
elder  and  the  stronger  man,  and  he  quietly  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  swimming  to  the  vessel. 
It  was  a  long,  fearfully  long  distance  for  a  man  fast- 
ing for  so  many  hours  ;  and  more  terrible  still  than 
drowning  was  the  other  danger  that  was  hidden 
under  the  golden  ripples  of  those  blue  waters.  But 
to  remain  was  certain  death  to  both,  and  this  attempt 
gave  the  one  last  hope.  The  brave  man  gave  his 
last  wishes  in  charge  to  his  officer,  made  the  one 


422  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

entreaty,  that  if  Mr.  Maclean  saw  a  shark  in  pur- 
suit, he  would  not  let  him  know,  shook  hands,  and, 
with  a  brief  prayer  for  the  protection  of  the  Al- 
mighty, sprang  overboard. 

Maclean  was  strongly  tempted  to  swim  with  this 
last  companion,  but  conquered  the  impulse  as  only 
leading  to  a  needless  peril,  cheered,  and  waved  his 
jacket.  Once  he  thought  he  saw  the  fin  of  a  shark, 
and  made  a  splashing,  in  hopes  of  scaring  it  from 
the  pursuit,  then  watched  the  swimmer  with  earnest 
hope.  Meldrum  swam,  straining  every  nerve,  splash- 
ing as  he  went  to  keep  away  the  sharks,  and  shout- 
ing, but  no  one  appeared  on  deck  ;  and  when  he 
had  accomplished  about  two-thirds  of  the  way.  his 
strength  failed  him,  and  he  was  about  to  resign 
himself  to  float  motionless,  an  easy  prey  to  the 
sharks,  when  a  head  was  seen  in  the  vessel.  He 
raised  his  arms,  jumped  himself  up  in  the  water,  and 
was  seen  !  The  brig  was  hove-to,  a  boat  was  put 
out,  and  he  was  taken  into  it.  still  able  to  speak  and 
point  the  way  to  his  companion. 

The  brig  was  American  ;  and,  at  first,  the  history 
of  the  last  day  and  night  was  thought  so  incredible, 
that  the  destitute  pair  were  taken  for  escaped  pi- 
rates ;  but  they  were,  at  last,  set  on  shore  at  Ha- 
vanna,  and  thence  conveyed  to  Port  Royal  by  the 
first  man-of-war  that  touched  there. 

At  the  court-martial  held  by  Sir  Lawrence  Hal- 
stead  these  facts  came  out.  Meldrum  could  not  be 
prevailed  on  to  tell  his  own  story  ;  but  when  his 
young  officer  had  related  it.  both  burst  into  tears, 
and  embraced  before  the  court.  Not  an  officer 
present  but  was  deeply  affected  ;  and  Meldrum  was, 
of  course,  at  once  promoted,  according  to  the  dying 
request  of  Lieutenant  Smith.  He  died  in  the  year 
1848,  but  the  name  of  the  Magpie  schooner  will 
ever  remain  connected  with  the  memory  of  un- 
daunted resolution  and  unwearied  patience. 


THE    FEVER   AT   OSMOTHERLY. 
1825. 

OSMOTHERLY  is  a  small  village  in  Yorkshire, 
not  far  from  North  Allerton.  It  had  been 
much  neglected,  the  houses  were  ill-built,  and  there 
had  been  little  attention  to  the  means  of  cleanliness, 
so  that  the  place  was  exceedingly  unhealthy,  and 
the  people  were  in  the  state  of  dulness  and  igno- 
rance, that  was  sure  to  be  the  result  of  possessing 
a  clergyman,  who  unhappily  cared  neither  for  their 
souls  nor  bodies,  and  did  not  even  reside  among 
them,  but  only  came  over  from  time  to  time  to  read 
the  service  in  the  church. 

No  wonder  that  a  deadly  low  fever  broke  out  in 
this  unfortunate  place,  in  the  autumn  of  1825,  and 
went  creeping  on  from  house  to  house,  laying  one 
person  low  after  another,  so  that  the  healthy  could 
hardly  be  found  to  nurse  the  sick.  Among  the  fam- 
ilies upon  whom  it  fell  very  heavily  was  that  of  an 
old  widow,  who  had  seen  better  days,  but  had  be- 
come nearly  destitute,  and  had  for  many  years  past 
been  chiefly  supported  by  an  allowance  from  her 
brother,  who  had  settled  as  a  merchant  in  America. 
This  brother  had  died  in  the  previous  year,  and  his 
only  child,  Mary  Lovell  Pickard,  at  that  time  twen- 
ty-five years  of  age,  had,  after  her  long  nursing  of 
him,  been  persuaded  to  cross  the  Atlantic,  and  make 
acquaintance  with  her  English  relations. 


424  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

She  had  spent  many  happy  months  with  aunts 
and  cousins  in  prosperous  circumstances,  but  she 
was  not  going  to  neglect  the  poor  old  aunt  in  the 
North,  and  taking  advantage  of  the  escort  of  some 
friends  who  were  going  to  Scotland,  she  travelled 
with  them  as  far  as  to  Penrith,  and  then  went  by 
coach  to  North  Allerton,  and  by  post-chaise  to  Os- 
motherly,  where  she  intended  to  pay  a  three  weeks' 
visit  at  Brush  Farm,  and  be  picked  up  again  at  Pen- 
rith on  their  return. 

Her  first  letter  from  this  place,  written  on  the  2d 
of  September,  1825,  describes  her  hostess  as  "a 
small,  thin  old  lady,  with  a  pale  complexion,  and  the 
very  brightest  black  eyes,  which  sparkle  when  she 
speaks  with  a  degree  of  animation  almost  amusing 
in  such  an  old  lady.  She  lives  in  a  comfortable  little 
two-story  cottage,  of  four  rooms,  which  far  exceeds 
anything  I  ever  saw  for  neatness,"  —  though  it 
seems  to  have  had  a  clay  floor.  "I  find,"  added 
kind-hearted  Mary,  "  that  I  could  not  have  come 
at  a  better  time  to  do  good,  or  a  worse  for  gaining 
spirits."  She  found  the  poor  old  lady  nearly  worn 
out  with  the  care  of  two  little  grandsons,  one  of 
whom  was  dreadfully  ill  with  whooping-cough,  but 
could  not  be  nursed  at  home,  as  his  younger  brother, 
a  baby  of  a  fortnight  old,  was  equally  ill  with  the 
same  complaint,  and  his  father  was  in  great  danger 
with  the  fever,  and  had  just  lost  a  brother  in  small- 
pox. And  worse  than  all,  a  son  of  the  old  lady  had 
been  just  brought  home  in  a  melancholy  state,  that 
was  almost  madness. 

Many  would  have  thought  only  of  flying  from  the 
fever,  Mary  Pickard  only  thought  how  she  could 
help  the  sufferers.  First  she  took  charge  of  the 
sick  child,  who  was  soon  very  fond  of  her,  and  took 
a  fancy  to  call  her  "  Uncle  Mady,"  and  she  likewise 
went  about  among  the  other  poor,  teaching  them  the 
care  of  their  sick,  and  giving  them  every  kind  of 


The  Fever  at  Osmotherly.  425 

nourishment  they  needed,  aiding  them  with  hand 
and  head,  till  no  wonder  they  were  always  declar- 
ing, "they  never  saw  such  a  lady  as  Miss  Pickard." 
What  she  gave  away  among  them  was  never  known, 
probably  not  even  to  herself ;  but  it  is  plain  that  she 
must  have  been  at  the  expense  of  their  medical  ad- 
vice, since  her  aunt  was  totally  dependent  on  her, 
and  the  daughter's  husband  had  hitherto  lived  solely 
by  his  daily  labor,  while  the  rest  of  the  parish  was 
extremely  poor,  and  the  destitution  caused  by  sick- 
ness was  dreadful.  She  says  herself  that  the  "good 
little  doctor  "  was  her  only  helper,  and  no  doubt  she 
must  have  called  him  in,  since  in  those  days  unions 
and  union-doctors  were  not,  and  though  parish-doc- 
tors were  appointed,  they  were  a  benefit  only  in 
name  to  the  poor,  who  depended  almost  entirely 
on  private  charity,  where  they  were  within  reach  of 
it,  or  else  upon  old  women,  cunning  men,  and  herb- 
alists. She  had  a  hard  fight  with  the  village  super- 
stitious fancies,  and  a  harder  one  with  the  cottagers' 
habits  of  uncleanliness  ;  and  such  was  the  panic 
that  prevailed,  that  she  could  hardly  rouse  them 
into  exertion  to  remove  the  dirt  that  was  probably 
the  cause  of  the  sickness,  and  certainly  much  in- 
creased it.  Whole  families  seem  to  have  owed  their 
food  to  her,  while  their  bread-winner  was  laid  by ; 
but  there  is  no  record  of  the  details  of  her  general 
doings.  She  said,  in  after  years,  that  she  should  like 
to  write  down  an  account  of  the  curious  things  that 
had  befallen  her  at  Osmotherly,  but  she  never  had 
time  to  do  so,  and  we  only  have  her  letters  written 
to  her  American  friends  at  the  time,  which  speak 
of  little  but  what  concerned  her  relations,  and  for 
them  the  work  she  did  would  have  seemed  in  itself 
sufficient. 

Her  cousin  "  Bessy's  "  husband  died  of  the  fever 
on  the  8th  of  September,  and  Mary  it  was  who 
closed  his  eyes,  and  the  next  day  stood  godmother 


426  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

to  the  poor  little  month-old  baby,  which  was  chris- 
tened at  its  father's  funeral,  with  little  hope  of  its 
living,  for  its  cough  was  bringing  on  fits.  Two 
nights  after  she  says  :  "  I  had  been  up  with  the 
little  boy  the  greater  part  of  the  night  before  .  .  . 
but,  (in  the  true  spirit  of  Polly  Pickard,  attempting 
to  do  more  than  any  one  would  have  thought  rea- 
sonable,) I  was  quite  persuaded  that,  as  I  was  to  sit 
up,  it  was  as  well  to  do  all  I  could  ;  and  as  poor 
Bessy  had  not  had  a  quiet  night  since  her  child  was 
born,  and  was  going  to  sleep  alone  in  her  house  for 
the  first  time  since  her  husband's  death,  I  thought 
it  would  do  her  good,  and  me  no  harm,  to  sit  up  in 
her  parlor,  and  take  care  of  the  baby  in  the  cradle, 
that  she  might  have  a  little  sleep,  and  not  feel  alone. 
The  dear  little  baby  had  been  better  than  for  some 
time  during  the  day,  and  I  doubted  not  that  it  would 
lie  in  the  cradle  or  on  my  knee  very  quietly,  except 
during  its  coughing  fits.  Bessy  went  to  bed  ;  but 
the  poor  little  creature  grew  worse,  and  coughed 
itself  into  a  fit,  in  which  it  lay  so  long,  that  I  thought 
it  dead,  and  awoke  its  mother.  But  its  little  heart 
began  to  beat  again,  and  it  seemed  to  be  reviving, 
though  slowly,  and  I  sent  her  off  again.  It  appeared 
for  some  time  to  be  recovering  ;  but  all  at  once  it 
sunk  away  and  died  in  my  arms,  so  peacefully  and 
sweetly,  that  I  could  scarcely  be  persuaded  that  it 
had  not  fallen  into  a  still  slumber,  or  had  another 
fit.  But  it  was  indeed  gone  ;  and  when  I  could 
bring  myself  to  give  it  up,  I  arranged  its  little  body 
for  its  last  home.  I  don't  know  when  I  have  had 
my  feelings  more  excited.  It  was  a  lovely  little 
creature,  and  I  have  nursed  it  so  much  since  I  have 
been  here,  that  I  found  it  had  become  an  object  of 
great  interest  to  me  :  not  a  day  has  passed  that  I 
have  not  given  three  or  four  hours  to  it,  and  it  was 
always  so  quiet  with  me,  that  it  seemed  almost  to 


The  Fever  at  O smother ly.  427 

the  midst  of  infection  :  "  Don't  fear  for  me  ;  I  don't 
think  I  am  going  to  be  sick,  and  it  will  be  for  some 
good  purpose  if  I  am." 

She  took  up  her  quarters  with  the  poor  bereaved 
mother,  and  was  able  to  be  a  great  comfort  to  her, 
by  long  talks  at  night,  when  all  was  still,  showing 
her  the  way  to  the  only  true  comfort,  of  which  the 
poor,  ill-taught  young  woman  had  hitherto  known 
little.  At  the  week's  end,  however,  poor  Bessy 
sickened  of  the  worst  form  of  typhus ;  and  the  next 
day  the  favorite  little  Jamie  fell  ill  also.  The  villa- 
gers thought  the  house  doomed,  and  Mary  saw  not 
a  creature  but  the  doctor,  day  after  day.  The  ill- 
ness lasted  eleven  days,  during  which  Mary  never 
left  her  night  or  day,  except  to  run  back  to  the 
grandmother's  for  a  change  of  clothes  ;  for  the  suf- 
ferer did  not  like  to  be  touched  by  any  other  person, 
and  it  was  best  that  as  few  should  be  exposed  to  the 
infection  as  possible.  "  Her  senses  never  forsook 
her  for  a  moment,  nor  her  deep  sense  of  gratitude 
to  God  for  the  mercies  which  He  had  bestowed  on 
her  amid  all  her  sufferings.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
His  immediate  Providence  had  sent  me  to  them  just 
at  this  time  ;  and  her  expressions  of  affection  and 
thankfulness  were  indeed  most  delightful  to  me." 
She  died  on  the  30th  of  September  ;  and  Mary  re- 
turned to  the  care  of  the  little  Jamie,  who  was  still 
extremely  ill.  The  elder  boy  was  seven  years  old, 
and  able  to  understand  the  desolateness  of  his  home, 
and,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire,  kept  on  repeating  at  inter- 
vals the  entreaty,  "  Cousin  Mary,  you  will  let  me  live 
with  you,  won't  you  ?  "  Poor  little  fellow  !  he  did 
not  long  need  an  earthly  home  ;  he,  too,  fell  ill, 
and,  after  a  most  patiently-borne  sickness,  watched 
constantly  by  this  loving  friend,  died  on  the  30th 
of  October. 

Still,  Mary's  nursing  was  not  ended.  On  the  2d 
of  November,  she  wrote  :    "  There  are  very  many 


428  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

cases  of  the  fever  in  the  village,  and  as  I  am  almost 
the  only  person  in  it  who  is  not  afraid  of  infection, 
I  still  have  full  employment  in  assisting  the  poor 
sufferers.  My  cousin's  little  niece  is  still  very  ill. 
I  have  indeed  been  wonderfully  preserved  and 
strengthened.  Heaven  save  me  from  presumption, 
but  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  I  could  not  have  lived 
through  all  that  1  have,  unless  God  had  protected 
me  ! "' 

By  the  end  of  the  month,  however,  the  fever  had 
abated  sufficiently  for  Mary  to  comply  with  the 
earnest  entreaties  of  her  friends,  and  come  to  them 
at  Penrith ;  but  it  was  a  cruel  parting  with  poor 
little  Jamie,  who  had  grown  so  fond  of  her.  that  his 
screams  of  agony  at  her  departure  long  echoed  in 
her  ears.  The  welcome  and  quiet  she  enjoyed 
among  her  friends  made  the  stay  with  them  "  like 
the  rest  of  the  Sabbath  to  the  weary  laborer,*'  though 
she  was  very  weak  and  weary,  and  needed  much 
rest  and  care.  But  before  December  was  at  an  end, 
came  a  letter  from  the  doctor,  telling  her  the  poor 
old  aunt  herself  was  at  the  point  of  death,  with  the 
same  malignant  fever.  Vainly  did  Mary's  friends 
assure  her  that  the  danger  of  returning  into  the 
infected  air  was  far  greater  than  even  all  she  had 
gone  through  before,  in  her  present  weakened  state. 
She  knew  it  was  her  duty  to  go.  and  took  her  leave 
of  them  "with  many  solemn  thoughts,  though  hid 
by  cheerful  looks,"  and  feeling  as  if  it  was  for  ever 
that  she  parted  with  them. 

After  an  eight  hour's  solitary  journey,  she  arrived, 
and  had  the  pleasure  of  the  most  ecstatic  greeting 
from  poor  little  Jamie.  '"  He  ran  round  me.  jumped 
up  in  my  lap.  stroked  and  kissed  my  face,  as  if  he 
could  not  trust  to  the  evidence  of  one  sense,  and  at 
last  burst  out  a-crying,  '  Uncle  Mady  won't  go  away 
again  !  —  Uncle  Mady  live  with  Jamie  every  day, 
won't  you,  Uncle  Mady  ? '  " 


The  Fever  at  Osmotherly.  429 

Again  she  had  to  be  sole  nurse  and  servant  in  the 
sick  house,  "  acting  in  a  fourfold  capacity,"  as  she 
called  it.  She  put  up  a  little  bed  in  a  corner  of  her 
aunt's  room,  and  devoted  herself  to  her.  It  was 
less  lonely  than  before  ;  for  the  doctor  had  brought 
his  sister  to  keep  house  for  him,  and  Mary  was  able 
to  see  much  ot  her.  Moreover,  the  old  aunt  began 
to  recover  from  the  time  of  her  arrival  ;  and  her 
American  heart  was  rejoiced  by  the  snow, —  "it 
looked  so  homeish,  and  so  much  like  your  happy 
home  the  last  time  I  saw  it,  that  I  have  been  enjoy- 
ing the  sight  highly." 

But  the  cold  and  wet,  at  last,  broke  down  her 
strength.  One  night,  when  alone,  such  a  dreadful 
cramp  seized  her,  that  she  fell  on  the  floor,  and  for 
a  considerable  time  could  neither  move  nor  make 
any  one  hear.  For  many  days  after,  she  lay  on  her 
bed,  in  a  state  of  extreme  weakness,  from  which  she 
could  hardly  be  recovered,  but  with  unfailing  bright- 
ness. It  was  always  remarked,  that  "her  worst 
days  were  her  gayest  ones  "  ;  and  at  length  she  re- 
covered, and  left  the  place  where  she  had  been  for 
so  many  months  truly  a  ministering  angel.  She 
returned  to  that  home  in  America  which  had,  during 
her  toils,  seemed  to  her  "  like  the  dreams  one  has 
of  heaven,  in  the  twilight  hours,  between  sleeping 
and  waking."  There  she  became  a  happy  wife  and 
mother,  and  continued  to  send  remittances  to  the 
old  aunt,  as  long  as  they  were  needed  ;  but  she  lost 
sight  of  little  Jamie,  and  had  no  further  intercourse 
with  him.  He,  however,  did  not  forget  her,  and, 
early  in  1849,  sent  a  l°ng'  affectionate  letter  to  her, 
dwelling  gratefully  on  all  she  had  done  for  his  dying 
parents  and  himself.  But  alas  !  the  letter  came  too 
late.  Mary,  —  now  the  widowed  Mrs.  Ware,  —  had 
long  been  sinking  under  a  fatal  malady,  so  endured, 
that  "her  sick  chamber  was  always  the  happiest 
room  in  the  house,"  and  had  died  on  a  lovely  April 


430  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

day.  in  which  she  looked  up  and  said,  with  a  smile, 
"  What  a  beautiful  day  to  go  home  .' ;' 

Surely,  if  it  be  a  glorious  deed  to  save  life  at  the 
risk  of  our  own.  Mary  Lovell  Pickard,  standing 
alone  among  the  dead  and  dying,  in  her  cheerful 
resolution  and  strong  trust  deserves  honor  as  much 
as  any  hero  who  braved  death  in  battle  or  in  wreck. 

Miss  Pickard's  noble  action,  and  another  similar 
one,  suggested  a  beautiful  sketch  by  Miss  Martin- 
eau,  entitled  "The  Sickness  and  Health  of  the  Peo- 
ple of  Bleaburn,"  in  Xos.  9,  10,  11,  12  of  House- 
hold Words. 

Let  us  add  to  this  a  parallel  from  Saint  Remi 
Bosrecourt,  near  Dieppe,  where,  in  1824,  there  was 
a  terrible  attack  of  typhus,  extremely  infectious. 
It  broke  out  in  a  house  where  there  were  eleven 
persons  ;  and  such  were  its  ravages,  that,  at  last, 
only  the  father  remained  with  four  little  children, 
all  ill ;  and  such  was  the  general  alarm,  that  no  one 
would  go  near  the  cottage.  All  the  nurses  whom 
the  authorities  of  the  village  endeavored  to  employ, 
replied  that  they  would  not  run  after  death.  At 
last,  a  lady.  M'ademoiselle  Celestine  Detrimont, 
offered  herself;  and  when  the  fearful  risk  was  set 
before  her.  she  answered.  "  In  the  service  of  God 
and  the  poor  there  is  no  fear  of  death."  To  the 
cottage  then  she  went.  One  more  child  died,  and 
she  herself  prepared  it  for  burial,  placing  the  coffin 
in  the  court-yard,  where  alone  any  one  dared  to 
come.  The  other  three  and  the  father  were  saved 
by  her  care  ;  and  this  is  said  to  have  been  only 
one  instance  in  a  whole  life  of  self-devotion  and 
charity. 


THE  CHIEFTAINESS  AND  THE  VOLCANO. 

1825. 

FEW  regions  in  the  world  are  more  beautiful 
than  those  islands  far  away  in  the  Pacific  which 
we  have  been  used  to  call  the  Sandwich  Isles. 
They  are  in  great  part  formed  by  the  busy  little  cor- 
al worms,  but  in  the  midst  of  them  are  lofty  moun- 
tains, thrown  up  by  the  wonderful  power  that  we 
call  volcanic.  In  sailing  up  to  the  islands  the  first 
thing  that  becomes  visible  are  two  lofty  peaks,  each 
two  miles  and  a  half  high.  One  is  white  with  per- 
petual snow,  the  other  is  dark,  —  dark  with  lava  and 
cinders,  on  which  the  inward  heat  will  not  permit 
the  snow  to  cast  a  white  mantle.  The  first  of  these 
has  been  tranquil  for  many  years,  the  other  is  the 
largest  and  most  terrible  active  volcano  in  the 
world,  and  is  named  Kilauea.  The  enormous  cra- 
ter is  a  lake  of  liquid  fire,  from  six  to  nine  miles  in 
circumference.  Over  it  plays  a  continual  vapor, 
which  hangs  by  day  like  a  silvery  cloud,  but  at  dusk 
is  red  and  glowing  like  the  Aurora  Borealis,  and  in 
the  night  is  as  a  forest  in  flames.  Rising  into  this 
lurid  atmosphere  are  two  black  cones,  in  the  midst 
of  a  sea  of  fused  lava,  in  which  black  and  pink 
rocks  are  tossed  wildly  about  as  in  a  seething  caul- 
dron. The  edge  of  this  huge  bason  of  burning 
matter  is  a  ledge  of  hard  lava,  above  which  rises  a 
mighty  wall  of  scoria  or  cinder  ;  in  one  place  form- 


432  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

ing  an  abrupt  precipice,  4,000  feet  high,  but  in  oth- 
ers capable  of  being  descended,  by  perilous  paths, 
by  those  who  desire  to  have  a  closer  view  of  the 
lake  of  flame  within.  Upon  the  bushes  that  grow 
on  the  mountain-top  is  found  a  curious  fibrous  sub- 
stance formed  by  the  action  of  the  air  upon  the 
vapor  rising  from  the  molten  minerals  beneath  ;  it 
is  like  cobwebs  of  spun  glass.  Tremendous  is  the 
scene  at  all  times,  but  at  the  periods  of  eruption, 
the  terrific  majesty  is  beyond  all  imagination,  when 
rivers  of  boiling  lava,  blood-red  with  heat,  rush- 
down  the  mountain-side,  forming  cascades  of  living 
fire,  or  spreading  destruction  over  the  plains,  and 
when  reaching  the  sea,  struggling,  roars,  thunder- 
ing, in  bubbling  flames  and  dense  smoke  for  the 
mastery  with  the  other  element. 

Heathen  nations  living  among  such  wonderful 
appearances  of  nature  cannot  fail  to  connect  them 
with  divine  beings.  The  very  name  of  Volcano  tes- 
tifies to  the  old  classical  fancy  that  the  burning  hills 
of  the  Mediterranean  were  the  workshops  of  the 
armorer  god  Vulcan  and  his  Cyclops  ;  and  in  the 
Sandwich  Islands,  the  terrible  Kilauea  was  supposed 
to  be  the  home  of  the  goddess  Pele,  whose  bath  was 
in  the  mighty  crater,  and  whose  hair  was  supposed 
to  be  the  glassy  threads  that  covered  the  hills. 
Fierce  goddess  as  she  was.  she  permitted  no  woman 
to  touch  the  verge  of  her  mountain,  and  her  wrath 
might  involve  the  whole  island  in  fiery  destruction. 

At  length,  however,  the  islanders  were  delivered 
from  their  bondage  of  terror  into  a  clearer  light. 
Missionaries  came  among  them,  and  intercourse 
with  Europeans  made  them  ashamed  of  their  own 
superstitious  fancies.  Very  gradually  the  faith  of 
the  people  detached  itself  from  the  savage  deities 
they  had  worshipped,  and  they  began  to  revere  the 
One  true  Maker  of  heaven  and'earth.  But  still  their 
superstitions  hung  round  Kilauea.     There  the  fiery 


The  Chief tainess  and  the   Volcano.  433 

goddess  still  revelled  in  her  fearful  gambols,  there 
the  terrible  sights  and  sounds,  and  the  desolating 
streams  that  might  at  any  moment  burst  from  her 
reservoir  of  flame  were  as  tokens  of  anger  that  the 
nation  feared  to  provoke.  And  after  the  young 
King  Liholiho,  with  all  his  court,  had  made  up  their 
minds  to  abandon  their  idols,  give  up  their  super- 
stitious practices,  and  seek  instruction  from  Chris- 
tian teachers,  still  the  priests  of  Pele,  on  her  flam- 
ing mountain,  kept  their  stronghold  of  heathenism, 
and  threatened  her  wrath  upon  those  who  should 
forsake  the  ancient  worship. 

Then  it  was  that  a  brave  Christian  woman,  strong 
in  faith  and  courage,  resolved  to  defy  the  goddess 
in  her  fastness,  and  break  the  spell  that  bound  the 
trembling  people  to  her  worship.  Her  name  was 
Kapiolani,  wife  of  Naihe,  the  public  orator  of  Hawaii. 
There  was  no  common  trust  and  resolution  needed 
to  enable  her  to  carry  out  her  undertaking.  Not 
only  was  she  outraging  the  old  notions  that  fearful 
consequences  must  follow  the  transgression  of  the 
tabu,  or  setting  apart.  Not  only  was  the  ascent 
toilsome,  and  leading  into  cold  regions,  which  were 
dreadful  to  a  delicate  Hawaiian,  but  the  actual  dan- 
ger of  the  ascent  was  great.  Wild  crags,  and  slip- 
pery sheets  of  lava,  or  slopes  of  crumbling  cinders, 
were  strangers  to  the  feet  of  the  tender  coast-bred 
woman.  And  the  heated  soil,  the  groanings,  the 
lurid  atmosphere,  the  vapor  that  oozed  up  from  the 
crevices  of  the  half-cooled  lava,  must  have  filled  any 
mind  with  awe  and  terror,  above  all,  one  that  had 
been  bred  up  in  the  faith  that  these  were  the  tokens 
of  the  fury  of  a  vindictive  and  powerful  deity,  whose 
precincts  she  was  transgressing.  Very  recently  a 
large  body  of  men  had  been  suffocated  on  the  moun- 
tain-side by  the  mephitic  gases  of  the  volcano  — 
struck  dead,  as  it  must  have  seemed,  by  the  breath 
of  the  goddess. 
28 


434  A  Book  of  Golde?i  Deeds. 

But  Kapiolani,  strong  in  the  faith  that  He,  as 
whose  champion  she  came,  was  all-sufficient  to 
guard  her  from  the  perils  she  confronted,  climbed 
resolutely  on,  bearing  in  her  hand  the  sacred  berries 
which  it  was  sacrilege  for  one  of  her  sex  to  touch. 
The  enraged  priests  of  Pele  came  forth  from  their 
sanctuary  among  the  crags,  and  endeavored  to  bar 
her  way  with  threats  of  the  rage  of  their  mistress  ; 
but  she  heeded  them  not.  She  made  her  way  to 
the  summit,  and  gazed  into  the  fiery  gulf  below,  then 
descended  the  side  of  the  terrible  crater,  even  to  the 
margin  of  the  boiling  sea  of  fire,  and  hurling  into  it 
the  sacred  berries,  exclaimed  :  "  If  I  perish  by  the 
anger  of  Pele,  then  dread  her  power  ;  but,  behold, 
I  defy  her  wrath.  I  have  broken  her  tabus  ;  I  live 
and  am  safe,  for  Jehovah  the  Almighty  is  my  God. 
His  was  the  breath  that  kindled  these  flames  ;  His 
is  the  Hand  which  restrains  their  fury  !  O,  all  ye 
people,  behold  how  vain  are  the  gods  of  Hawaii, 
and  turn  and  serve  the  Lord  !  " 

Safely  the  brave  woman  descended  the  mountain, 
having  won  her  cause,  the  cause  of  Faith. 

In  classic  times,  the  philosopher  Empedocles  had 
leapt  into  the  burning  crater  of  Mount  Etna,  thereby 
to  obtain  an  imperishable  name.  How  much  more 
noble  is  the  name  that  Kapiolani  gained  for  herself, 
by  the  deed  that  showed  forth  at  whose  command 
alone  it  is  that  the  mountains  quake  and  flow  down, 
and  the  hills  melt  like  wax. 


DISCIPLINE. 


PERHAPS  there  have  never  been  occasions, 
when  the  habit  of  instantaneous  obedience  to 
the  voice  of  duty  has  produced  more  touching  in- 
stances of  forbearance  and  unselfishness,  than  in  the 
confusion  and  despair  of  a  shipwreck.  What  a  wreck 
can  be  without  such  qualities,  has  been  but  too 
well  proved  by  the  horrible  scenes  that  took  place 
after  the  loss  of  the  French  ship  Meduse,  when  bru- 
tal selfishness  was  followed  by  savage  violence  and 
cannibalism  too  shocking  to  be  dwelt  upon  ;  though 
memorable  as  an  example,  that  "  every  man  for  him- 
self," is  the  most  fatal  of  all  policies,  even  were  self- 
preservation  the  primary  object. 

In  British  ships  of  war,  unshrinking  obedience, 
heeding  nothing  but  the  one  matter  in  hand,  is  the 
rule.  "  As  a  landsman,"  says  Colonel  Fisher,  an 
engineer-officer,  who  was  on  board  the  Plover  gun- 
boat in  the  hottest  fire  on  the  Peiho  river,  "  I  was 
much  struck  with  the  coolness  with  which  the  navi- 
gation of  the  vessel  was  attended  to  ;  the  man  in 
the  chains  cries  the  soundings,  the  master  gives  his 
orders  to  the  man  at  the  helm  and  the  engineers 
below ;  the  helmsman  has  no  eyes  or  ears  but  for 
the  master's  directions  and  signals.  .  .  .  All  seem 
intent  on  what  is  their  duty  at  the  time  being,  and 
utterly  unmindful  of  the  struggle  raging  round 
them."     And  this  when  not  only  were  they  being 


436  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds, 

shot  down  ever)-  moment,  but  when  each  compara- 
tively harmless  ball  rocked  the  gun-boat,  sent  splin- 
ters flying,  or  brought  the  yards  down  upon  their 
heads.  Where  such  conduct  is  regarded  as  a  mere 
matter  of  course,  from  the  grey-headed  admiral 
down  to  the  cadet  and  the  cabin-boy,  no  wonder  that 
multitudes  of  deeds  have  been  done,  glorious  be- 
cause they  placed  duty  far  above  self,  and  proved 
that  Nelson's  signal  is  indeed  true  to  the  strongest 
instinct  of  the  English  sailor. 

The  only  difficulty  is  to  choose  among  the  in- 
stances of  patient  obedience  on  record  ;  and  how 
many  more  are  there,  unknown  to  all  but  to  Him  who 
treasures  up  the  record,  until  the  day  when  "the 
sea  shall  give  up  her  dead  !  "  Let  us  cast  a  glance 
at  the  Atalante,  bewildered  in  a  fog  upon  the  coast 
of  Nova  Scotia,  and  deceived  by  the  signal-guns  of 
another  ship  in  distress,  till  she  struck  upon  the 
formidable  reefs,  known  by  the  name  of  the  Sisters 
Rocks,  off  Sambro  Island.  The  wreck  was  com- 
plete and  hopeless,  and  a  number  of  men  scrambled 
at  once  into  the  pinnace  ;  but  the  captain,  seeing 
that  she  could  never  float  so  loaded,  ordered  twenty 
of  them  out,  and  was  implicitly  obeyed,  so  entirely 
without  a  murmur,  that  as  the  men  hung  clinging  to 
the  weather-gunwale  of  the  ship,  they  drowned  the 
crashing  of  the  falling  masts  with  their  cheers. 

As  soon  as  the  pinnace  was  lightened,  she  floated 
off,  but  immediately  turned  bottom  upwards.  Still 
the  crew  never  lost  their  self-possession  for  one 
moment,  but  succeeded  in  righting  her,  and  resum- 
ing their  places,  without  the  loss  of  a  man.  They 
then  waited  beyond  the  dash  of  the  breakers  on  the 
reef,  for  Captain  Hickey  and  their  companions,  who 
were  still  clinging  to  the  remains  of  the  ship. 
There  were  two  other  boats,  but  too  small  to  hold 
the  whole  number,  and  an  attempt  was  made  to  con- 
struct a  raft,  but  the  beating  of  the  waves  rendered 


Discipline.  \yj 

this  impossible,  so  the  men  already  in  the  pinnace 
were  directed  to  lie  down  in  the  bottom,  and  pack 
themselves  like  herrings  in  a  barrel,  while  the  lesser 
boats  returned  through  the  surf  to  pick  off  the  rest, 
—  a  most  difficult  matter,  and  indeed  some  had  to 
be  dragged  off  on  ropes,  and  others  to  swim,  but 
not  one  was  lost.  The  captain  was  of  course  the 
last  man  to  quit  the  wreck,  though  several  of  the 
officers  were  most  unwilling  to  precede  him  even 
for  a  moment,  and  by  the  time  he  reached  the  boat, 
the  last  timbers  had  almost  entirely  disappeared, 
amid  the  loud  cheers  of  the  brave-hearted  crew. 

Nothing  was  saved  but  the  admiral's  despatches, 
which  the  captain  had  secured  at  the  first  moment, 
and  the  chronometer.  This  last  was  the  special 
charge  of  the  captain's  clerk,  who  had  been  directed 
always  to  hold  it  in  his  hand  when  the  guns  were 
fired,  or  the  ship  underwent  any  shock,  so  as  to  pre- 
vent the  works  from  being  injured.  On  the  first 
alarm  he  had  caught  up  the  chronometer  and  run 
on  deck,  but  being  unable  to  swim,  was  forced  to 
cling  to  the  mizzen-mast.  When  the  ship  fell  over, 
and  the  mast  became  nearly  horizontal,  he  crawled 
out  to  the  mizzen-top,  and  sat  there  till  the  spar  gave 
way  and  plunged  him  into  the  waves,  whence  he 
was  dragged  into  one  of  the  boats,  half-drowned, 
but  grasping  tight  his  precious  trust.  A  poor  merry 
negro,  who  held  fast  to  his  fiddle  to  the  last  mo- 
ment, as  he  clung  to  the  main-chains,  was  obliged 
to  let  his  instrument  go,  amid  the  laughter  and  fun 
of  his  messmates,  who  seem  to  have  found  food  for 
merriment  in  every  occurrence.  No  one  had  a  full 
suit  of  clothes  but  an  old  quartermaster,  named 
Samuel  Shanks,  who  had  comported  himself 
throughout  as  composedly  as  if  shipwrecks  befell 
him  every  day,  and  did  not  even  take  off  his  hat, 
except  for  a  last  cheer  to  the  Atalante  as  she  sunk. 
He  recollected  that  he  had  a  small  compass  seal 


438  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

hanging  to  his  watch,  and  this  being  handed  to  the 
captain,  in  his  gig,  and  placed  on  the  top  of  the 
chronometer,  it  proved  steady  enough  to  steer  by, 
as  the  three  boats  crept  carefully  along  in  the  dense 
fog.  They  landed,  after  a  few  hours,  on  the  coast, 
about  twenty  miles  from  Halifax,  at  a  fishing  sta- 
tion, where  they  were  warmed  and  fed. 

Thence  the  captain  took  the  most  exhausted  and 
least  clothed  of  the  party  in  the  boats  to  Halifax, 
leaving  the  others  to  march  through  the  half-cleared 
country.  Before  night  the  whole  ship's  company 
assembled,  without  one  man  missing,  in  as  complete 
order  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Here  perfect  discipline  had  proved  the  means  of 
safety,  and  hope  had  never  failed  for  a  moment ;  but 
we  have  still  fresh  in  our  memories  an  occasion 
where  such  forbearing  obedience  led  to  a  willing 
self-sacrifice,  when  safety  might  have  been  possible 
to  the  strong  at  the  expense  of  certain  destruction  to 
the  weak. 

The  Birkenhead,  a  war  steamer  used  as  a  trans- 
port, was  on  her  way  to  Algoa  Bay  with  about  630 
persons  on  board.  132  being  her  own  crew,  the  rest 
being  detachments  from  the  12th,  74th,  and  91st 
regiments,  and  the  wives  and  children  of  the  soldiers. 
In  the  dead  of  the  night,  between  the  25th  and  28th 
of  February,  the  vessel  struck  on  a  reef  of  sunken 
rocks  on  the  African  coast,  and  from  the  rapidity 
with  which  she  was  moving,  and  the  violence  of  the 
waves,  became  rapidly  a  hopeless  wreck.  On  the 
shock,  the  whole  of  the  men  and  officers  hurried  on 
deck,  and  the  commanding  officer,  Lieutenant-Colo- 
nel Seton,  calling  the  other  officers  about  him,  im- 
pressed on  them  the  necessity  of  preserving  order 
and  silence  among  the  men,  and  placed  them  at  the 
disposal  of  the  commander  of  the  vessel. 

Sixty  were  placed  at  the  pumps,  others  to  disen- 
gage the  boats,  and  others  to  throw  the  poor  horses 


Discipline.  439 

overboard,  so  as  to  lighten  the  ship,  while  the  rest 
were  sent  to  the  poop  to  ease  the  fore  part  of  the 
ship.  Every  one  did  as  directed,  and  not  a  murmur 
nor  cry  was  heard.  They  were  as  steady  as  if  on 
parade,  as  ready  as  though  embarking  in  a  British 
harbor. 

The  largest  boat  was  unhappily  too  much  encum- 
bered to  be  got  at  quickly  enough,  but  the  cutter 
was  filled  with  the  women  and  children,  and  pushed 
off,  as  did  two  other  small  boats.  Of  the  other  two 
large  ones,  one  was  capsized,  the  other  stove  in  by 
the  fall  of  the  funnel,  which  took  place  immediately 
after  the  cutter  was  clear  of  the  ship,  only  twelve  or 
fifteen  minutes  after  the  ship  had  struck.  At  the 
same  time  the  whole  vessel  broke  in  two  parts,  cross- 
wise, and  the  stern  part  began  to  sink  and  fill  with 
water.  The  commander  called  out,  "  All  those  that 
can  swim  jump  overboard  and  swim  for  the  boats." 

But  Colonel  Seton  and  the  officers  with  him  be- 
sought their  men  to  forbear,  showing  them  that  if 
they  did  so  the  boats  with  the  women  must  be 
swamped.  And  they  stood  still.  Not  more  than 
three  made  the  attempt.  Officers  and  men  alike 
waited  to  face  almost  certain  death  rather  than  en- 
danger the  women  and  children.  Young  soldiers, 
mostly  but  a  short  time  in  the  service,  were  as  pa- 
tiently resolute  as  their  elders.  "In  a  few  moments 
the  whole  of  these  brave  men  were  washed  into  the 
sea,  some  sinking,  some  swimming,  some  clinging 
to  spars.  The  boats  picked  up  as  many  as  was  pos- 
sible without  overloading  them,  and  then  made  for 
the  shore,  which  was  only  two  miles  off,  hoping  to 
land  these  and  return  for  more,  but  the  surf  ran  so 
high  that  landing  was  impossible,  and  after  seeking 
till  daylight  for  a  safe  landing-place,  they  were  at  last 
picked  up  by  a  schooner,  which  then  made  for  the 
wreck,  where  thirty  or  forty  were  still  hanging  to  the 
masts  in  a  dreadful  state  of  exhaustion. 


440 


A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 


A  few,  both  of  men  and  horses,  had  succeeded  in 
swimming  to  the  shore,  but  some  were  devoured  by 
the  sharks  on  the  way,  and  out  of  the  whole  number 
in  the  ship,  only  192  were  saved.  But  those  who 
were  lost,  both  sailors  and  soldiers,  have  left  behind 
them  a  memory  of  calm,  self-denying  courage  as 
heroic  as  ever  was  shown  on  battle-field. 


THE    RESCUERS. 

WE  have  had  a  glimpse  of  the  horrors  on  board 
a  wrecked  ship,  and  the  resolution  with  which 
they  can  be  endured  and  conquered.  Let  us  now 
look  at  the  shore,  and  at  the  spirit  that  has  prompted 
even  women  to  become  their  rescuers. 

Here,  then,  is  a  portion  of  a  "  Night  Scene  by  the 
Sea,"  namely,  the  dangerous  coast  near  Cromer,  in 
the  county  of  Norfolk.  It  is  taken  from  a  poem  by 
Joanna  Baillie,  and  is  literally  and  exactly  true. 
There,  amid 

"  The  roar  of  winds  and  waves 
As  strong  contention  loudly  raves, 
A  fearful  sound  of  fearful  commotion, 
The  many  angry  voices  of  the  ocean," 

the  foremost  in  affording  aid  to  the   shipwrecked 
seamen  was  a  crippled  lady, 

"  One  with  limbs  nerve-bound, 
Whose  feet  had  never  touched  the  ground, 
Who  loves  in  tomes  of  Runic  lore 
To  scan  the  curious  tales  of  yore, 
Of  gods  and  heroes  dimly  wild, 
And  hath  intently  oft  beguiled 
Her  passing  hours  with  mystic  rhymes, 
Legends  by  bards  rehearsed  of  other  times  ; 
Learned,  and  loving  learning  well, 
For  college  hall  or  cloistered  cell 


442  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

A  student  meet,  yet  all  the  while 

As  meet,  with  repartee  or  smile, 

'Mid  easy  converse,  polished,  blithe,  and  boon, 

To  join  the  circles  of  a  gay  saloon  ; 

From  childhood  reared  in  wealth  and  ease, 

The  daily  care  herself  to  please,  — 

For  selfish  nature  here  below 

A  dangerous  state,  I  trow." 

That  crippled  lady  was  Anna  Gurney,  one  of  a 
gifted  family,  surpassing  them  perhaps  in  mental 
powers  and  attainments,  certainly  not  inferior  to 
any  in  Christian  benevolence,  and  (which  is  the 
strangest  thing  of  all)  absolutely  more  than  a  match 
for  the  soundest  and  healthiest  among  them  in  per- 
sonal activity,  though  unable  through  her  whole  life 
to  stand  or  move  without  mechanical  aid.  Her  in- 
tellect was  of  the  highest  order.  After  learning  all 
the  more  accessible  languages,  she  betook  herself 
to  the  ancient  Teutonic  branches,  and  in  1819  trans- 
lated the  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle.  As  invalid  and 
as  scholar,  she  would,  as  the  verses  above  quoted 
observe,  have  seemed  in  especial  danger  of  dwell- 
ing on  nothing  beyond  her  own  constant  and  severe 
sufferings,  and  the  studies  that  beguiled  her  atten- 
tion  from  them. 

Yet  she  was  full  of  the  warmest,  brightest  sym- 
pathy. Her  conversation  was  not  only  delightful 
from  her  brilliant  powers,  but  from  her  ready  per- 
ception of  the  wants  and  wishes  of  others.  Not 
only  was  her  wheeled  chair  propelled  in  a  moment 
to  her  book-shelves  when  she  wanted  a  volume  to 
illustrate  her  thought,  but  the  moment  she  caught 
a  friend's  eye  in  search  of  any  article  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, her  chair  was  turned  in  that  direction,  and 
the  object  was  presented  with  infinite  grace.  She 
made  young  people  exceedingly  fond  of  her,  and  de- 
lighted to  assist  them  in  their  studies.  She  would 
help  boys  to  prepare  their  Greek  and  Latin  tasks 


The  Rescuers.  443 

with  infinite  zest,  and  would  enliven  a  lesson  with 
comical  and  original  allusions.  Other  children  of 
a  lower  rank  were  also  taught  by  her,  and  from  her 
home  at  North-Repps  Cottage,  she  won,  by  her  kind- 
ness and  helpfulness,  the  strongest  influence  over 
the  fisherfolk  upon  the  coast,  who  looked  upon  her 
as  a  superior  being. 

At  her  own  expense  she  procured  a  life-boat  and 
apparatus  for  rescuing  the  shipwrecked,  and  to  se- 
cure the  right  use  of  these,  she  would  be  wheeled 
down  to  the  shore  in  her  chair  to  give  orders  and 
superintend  their  execution.  Surely  there  can  be 
no  more  noble  picture  than  this  infirm  woman,  con- 
stantly in  pain,  whose  right  it  would  have  seemed 
to  be  shielded  from  a  rough  blast  or  the  very  knowl- 
edge of  suffering,  coming  forth  in  the  dead  of  night, 
amid  the  howling  storm,  beating  spray,  and  drench- 
ing rain,  to  direct  and  inspirit  its  rugged,  seafaring 
men,  and  send  them  on  errands  of  life  or  death. 
Which  was  most  marvellous,  it  is  hard  to  say,  the 
force  of  will  that  actuated  her,  or  the  force  of  un- 
derstanding that  gave  value  to  such  presence  and 
commands. 

Truly  may  Miss  Baillie  say  :  — 

"  But  no,  my  words  her  words  may  not  express, 
Their  generous  import  your  own  hearts  must  guess." 

And  when  half-drowned  sailors  were  brought 
ashore,  she  remained  to  give  care  and  directions 
for  their  treatment,  or  took  them  to  her  own  home, 
where  they  were  so  welcomed,  that  it  was  a  saying 
on  the  coast  that  it  was  worth  while  to  be  wrecked 
to  be  received  by  Miss  Gurney. 

"  The  lady  returns  to  her  home  again, 
With  the  sound  of  blessings  in  her  ear, 
From  young  and  old,  her  heart  to  cheer  ; 
Sweet  thoughts  within  her  secret  soul  to  cherish, 
The  blessings  of  those  who  were  ready  to  perish  ; 


444  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

And  there  lays  her  down  on  her  peaceful  pillow, 

Blessed  by  the  Lord  of  the  wind  and  the  billow."' 

When,  at  the  age  of  sixty-one.  she  laid  her  down 
on  her  last  pillow,  she  was  carried  to  her  rest,  in 
the  seaside  church  of  Overstrand.  by  old  fishermen, 
—  rugged,  loving  men  who  knew  and  valued  her. — 
and  when  they  had  lowered  the  coffin  down  the 
stone  steps  of  the  open  vault,  they  formed  a  knot 
at  the  foot  and  wept  bitterly.  More  than  a  thou- 
sand persons  from  the  coast  had  gathered  to  show 
their  respect  and  gratitude  :  most  were  in  mourning, 
many  in  tears.  "  I  never."'  said  one  who  was  pres- 
ent. ••  saw  so  manv  men  weeping,  at  one  time  it 
seemed  a  general  wail."  The  sendee  was  read  by 
the  clergyman  of  the  parish  'who  could  not  but  feel 
that  he  had  lost  his  most  precious  earthly  helper) 
simply  and  calmly  :  with  cheerful  brightness,  which 
showed  that  his  faith  had  realized  her  gain,  he  gave 
thanks  for  her. 

The  cripple  gave  what  she  had.  —  her  vigorous 
mind,  her  means,  and  her  spirit.  Let  us  turn  to 
one  who  had  neither  silver  nor  gold,  nothing  but  her 
resolute  heart  and  brave  skilful  hands.  Grace  Dar- 
ling, the  daughter  of  the  keeper  of  one  of  the  light- 
houses upon  the  Fern  Islands,  a  perilous  cluster 
of  rocks  off  St.  Abb's  Head,  was  wakened  towards 
the  morning  of  the  6th  of  September.  1S38.  by 
shrieks  of  distress  :  and  when  dawn  came,  per- 
ceived the  remains  of  a  wreck  upon  Longstone 
Island,  the  outermost  of  the  group. 

Grace  awoke  her  father  and  urged  him  to  launch 
his  boat  and  go  to  the  rescue  of  any  one  who  might 
still  be  alive  in  the  stranded  vessel,  but  the  tide 
was  rising,  wind  and  sea  were  wild,  and  the  old  man 
hung  back.  Grace,  however,  was  sure  that  she 
discerned  a  movement  on  the  wreck,  as  though  liv- 
ing  beings   were    still   there,   and    seizins;   an    oar. 


The  Resetters.  445 

placed  herself  in  the  boat,  which  she  was  well  able 
to  manage.  Her  father  could  not  let  her  go  alone, 
and  they  rowed  off  together  in  a  tremendous  sea, 
encouraged  by  perceiving  that  nine  persons  were 
still  clinging  to  the  forepart  of  the  ship.  The  father, 
after  many  vain  attempts,  succeeded  in  landing  on 
the  rock,  and  making  his  way  to  the  wreck,  while 
Grace  rowed  off  and  on  among  the  breakers,  dex- 
terously guiding  her  little  boat,  which  but  for  her 
excellent  management  would  have  been  dashed  to 
pieces  against  the  rocks. 

One  by  one,  with  the  utmost  care  and  skill,  the 
nine  survivors  were  placed  in  the  boat  and  carried 
to  the  light-house,  where  Grace  lodged,  fed,  and 
nursed  them  for  two  whole  days  before  the  storm 
abated  enough  for  communication  with  the  mainland. 
One  of  them  was  a  Mrs.  Dawson,  whose  two  chil- 
dren, of  eleven  and  eight  years  old,  had  actually 
been  buffeted  to  death  by  the  waves  while  she  held 
them  in  her  arms,  and  who  was  so  much  injured 
herself,  that  it  was  long  before  she  could  leave  her 
bed. 

The  vessel  was  the  Forfarshire,  a  large  steamer 
plying  between  Hull  and  Dundee.  Her  boilers  had 
been  out  of  order,  their  leakage  had  rendered  the 
engines  useless,  and  when  the  storm  arose,  the  ship 
was  unmanageable  without  her  steam,  and  was 
driven  helplessly  upon  the  Fern  Islands.  The  only 
boat  had  been  lowered  by  eight  of  the  sailors,  who 
were  pushing  off  in  her  when  one  gentleman  rushed 
on  deck,  seized  a  rope  and  swung  himself  in  after 
them.  These  nine  were  picked  up  by  a  sloop  and 
saved.  Of  the  others,  the  whole  number  had  either 
been  drowned  in  their  berths  or  washed  off  the 
wreck,  except  four  of  the  crew  and  five  passengers, 
whom  Grace  Darling's  valor  had  rescued.  The  en- 
tire amount  of  the  lost  was  not  known,  but  more 
than  forty  had  certainly  gone  on   board  at   Hull 


446 


A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 


Some  sailors  at  Sunderland  went  out  to  the  wreck 
during  the  storm  at  the  peril  of  their  lives,  but  found 
only  corpses  to  bring  away.  Grace's  noble  conduct 
rang  throughout  England,  and  every  testimonial 
that  could  be  offered  was  sent  to  her.  We  believe 
that  this  brave  girl  soon  after  died  of  decline. 


THE    RESCUE    PARTY. 

1853- 

THE  Arctic  seas  have  been  the  scene  of  some 
of  the  most  noted  instances  of  daring  and  pa- 
tience shown  by  mariners.  Ever  since  the  reign  of 
Edward  VI.,  when  the  brave  Sir  Hugh  Willoughby 
and  his  crew  all  perished,  frozen  at  their  posts 
among  the  rocks  of  Spitzbergen,  the  relentless  ice, 
and  soft  though  fatal  snows  of  those  dreary  realms, 
have  formed  the  grave  of  many  a  gallant  sailor. 
Many  a  life  has  been  lost  in  the  attempt  to  dis- 
cover the  North-west  passage,  between  Davis's  and 
Behring's  Straits,  and  to  trace  the  outline  of  the 
northern  coast  of  America.  Whether  those  lives 
were  wasted,  or  whether  their  brave  example  was 
not  worth  more  to  the  world  than  a  few  years  more 
of  continuance,  is  not  the  question  here  to  be  asked. 
The  later  Arctic  voyagers  had  a  nobler  purpose  than 
that  of  completing  the  survey  of  the  barren  coast, 
namely,  the  search  for  Sir  John  Franklin,  who,  in 
1845,  had  gone  forth  with  two  tried  vessels,  the 
Erebus  and  Terror,  on  his  second  polar  expedition, 
and  had  been  seen  and  heard  of  no  more. 

Voyage  after  voyage  was  undertaken,  in  the  hope 
at  first  of  relieving  and  rescuing  the  lost  ships' 
companies,  and  then  of  ascertaining  iheir  fate,  until 
the  Admiralty  decided  that  to  send  forth  more  ex- 
ploring parties  was  a  vain  risking  of  valuable  lives, 


448  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

and  it  was  only  the  earnest  perseverance  of  Sir  John 
Franklin's  wife  and  the  chivalrous  adventure  of  in- 
dividuals that  carried  on  the  search,  until,  at  the 
end  of  fourteen  years,  Captain,  now  Sir  Leopold 
M'Gintock,  in  the  Fox  yacht,  discovered  the  last 
records,  which  placed  it  beyond  all  doubt  that  the 
gentle  and  courageous  Franklin  had  died  peacefully, 
before  evil  days  had  come  on  his  party,  and  that  the 
rest  had  more  gradually  perished  under  cold  and 
hunger,  in  the  fearful  prison  of  icebergs. 

Gallant  and  resolute  as  were  all  these  northern 
travellers,  there  are  two  names  that  perhaps  deserve, 
above  the  others,  to  be  recorded,  because  their  free 
offer  of  themselves  was  not  prompted  by  the  com- 
mon tie  of  country.  One  was  the  French  Lieutenant 
Bellot,  who  sailed  in  the  Albert  in  185 1,  and  after 
most  manful  exertions,  which  gained  the  respect 
and  love  of  all  who  sailed  with  him.  was  drowned 
by  the  breaking  of  the  ice  in  Wellington  Sound. 
The  other  was  Dr.  Edward  Kane,  an  American 
naval  surgeon,  who  in  1S53  volunteered  to  com- 
mand an  American  expedition  in  search  of  the  lost 
vessels,  which  some  supposed  to  be  shut  up  by  the 
ice  in  a  basin  of  clearer,  warmer  water,  such  'as  it 
was  thought  might  exist  round  the  North  Pole,  and 
the  way  to  which  might  be  opened  or  closed,  ac- 
cording to  the  shifting  of  the  icebergs. 

His  vessel  was  the  brig  Advance,  and  his  course 
was  directed  through  Davis's  Straits,  and  on  the 
way  past  the  Danish  settlements  in  Greenland,  they 
provided  themselves  with  a  partially  educated  young 
Esquimaux  as  a  hunter,  and  with  a  team  of  dogs, 
which  were  to  be  used  in  drawing  sledges  over  the 
ice  in  explorations. 

The  whole  expedition  was  one  Golden  Deed,  but 
there  is  not  space  to  describe  it  in  all  its  details  : 
we  must  confine  ourselves  to  the  most  striking  epi- 
sode in  their  adventures,  hoping  that  it  may  send  our 


The  Rescue  Party.  449 

readers  to  the  book  itself.  The  ship  was  brought  to 
a  standstill  in  Renfaelner  Bay,  on  the  west  side  of 
Smith's  Strait,  between  the  79th  and  80th  degrees 
of  latitude.  It  was  only  the  10th  of  September  when 
the  ice  closed  in  so  as  to  render  further  progress  of 
the  ship  impossible.  On  the  7th  of  November  the 
sun  was  seen  for  the  last  time,  and  darkness  set  in 
for  141  days,  —  such  darkness  at  times  as  was  mis- 
ery even  to  the  dogs,  who  used  to  contend  with  one 
another  for  the  power  of  lying  within  sight  of  the 
crack  of  light  under  the  cabin  door. 

Before  the  light  failed,  however,  Dr.  Kane  had 
sent  out  parties  to  make  caches,  or  stores  of  pro- 
visions, at  various  intervals.  These  were  to  be 
used  by  the  exploring  companies  whom  he  pro- 
posed to  send  out  in  sledges,  while  the  ice  was 
still  unbroken,  in  hopes  of  thus  discovering  the  way 
to  the  Polynia,  or  polar  basin,  in  which  he  thought 
Franklin  might  be  shut  up.  The  same  work  was 
resumed  with  the  first  gleams  of  returning  light  in 
early  spring,  and  on  the  18th  of  March  a  sledge  was 
despatched  with  eight  men  to  arrange  one  of  these 
depots  for  future  use.  Towards  midnight  on  the 
29th,  Dr.  Kane  and  those  who  had  remained  in  the 
ship,  were  sewing  moccasins  in  their  warm  cabin  by 
lamplight,  when  steps  were  heard  above,  and  down 
came  three  of  the  absent  ones,  staggering,  swollen, 
haggard,  and  scarcely  able  to  speak.  Four  of  their 
companions  were  lying  under  their  tent  frozen  and 
disabled,  "  somewhere  among  the  hummocks,  to  the 
north  and  east,  it  was  drifting  heavily."  A  brave 
Irishman,  Thomas  Hickey,  had  remained  at  the  peril 
of  his  life  to  feed  them,  and  these  three  had  set  out 
to  try  to  obtain  aid,  but  they  were  so  utterly  ex- 
hausted and  bewildered,  that  they  could  hardly  be 
restored  sufficiently  to  explain  themselves. 
_  Instantly  to  set  out  to  the  rescue,  was  of  course 
~rst 
29 


45°  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

had  been  ascertained,  a  sledge,  a  small  tent,  and 
some  pemmican,  or  pounded  and  spiced  meat,  were 
packed  up  ;  Mr.  Ohlsen.  who  was  the  least  disabled 
of  the  sufferers,  was  put  into  a  fur  bag,  with  his  legs 
rolled  up  in  dog  skins  and  eider-down,  and  strapped 
upon  the  sledge,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  serve  as 
a  guide,  and  nine  men,  with  Dr.  Kane,  set  forth 
across  the  ice  in  cold  seventy-eight  degrees  below 
the  freezing-point. 

Mr.  Ohlsen,  who  had  not  slept  for  fifty  hours, 
dropped  asleep  as  soon  as  the  sledge  began  to  move, 
and  thus  he  continued  for  sixteen  hours,  during 
which  the  ten  proceeded  with  some  knowledge  of 
their  course,  since  huge  icebergs  of  noted  forms, 
stretching  in  " long  beaded  lines"  across  the  bay, 
served  as  a  sort  of  guide-posts.  But  just  when  they 
had  come  beyond  their  knowledge,  except  that  their 
missing  comrades  must  be  somewhere  within  forty 
miles  round,  he  awoke,  evidently  delirious  and  per- 
fectly useless.  Presently,  they  came  to  a  long,  level 
floe,  or  held  of  ice.  and  Dr.  Kane,  thinking  it  might 
have  been  attractive  to  weary  men  unable  to  stagger 
over  the  wild  hummocks  and  rugged  surface  of  the 
other  parts,  decided  to  search  it  thoroughly.  He 
left  the  sledge,  raised  the  tent,  buried  the  pemmican, 
and  took  poor  Ohlsen  out  of  his  bag,  as  he  was  just 
able  to  keep  his  legs,  and  the  thermometer  had  sunk 
three  degrees  lower,  so  that  to  halt  would  have  been 
certain  death.  The  thirst  was  dreadful,  for  there 
was  no  waiting  to  melt  the  snow,  and  in  such  a  tem- 
perature, if  it  be  not  thawed  before  touching  the 
mouth,  it  burns  like  caustic,  and  leaves  the  lips  and 
tongue  bleeding.  The  men  were  ordered  to  spread 
themselves,  so  as  to  search  completely  ;  but  though 
they  readily  obeyed,  they  could  not  help  continually 
closing  up  together,  either,  Dr.  Kane  thought,  from 
getting  bewildered  by  the  forms  of  the  ice,  or  from 
the  invincible  awe  and  dread  of  solitude,  acting  on 


The  Rescue  Party.  451 

their  shattered  nerves  in  that  vast  field  of  intense 
lonely  whiteness,  and  in  the  atmosphere  of  deadly 
cold.  The  two  strongest  were  seized  with  shortness 
of  breath  and  trembling  fits,  and  Dr.  Kane  himself 
fainted  twice  on  the  snow.  Thus  they  had  spent 
two  hours,  having  been  nearly  eighteen  without 
water  or  food,  when  Hans,  their  Esquimaux  hunter, 
thought  he  saw  a  sledge  track  in  the  snow,  and 
though  there  was  still  a  doubt  whether  it  were  not 
a  mere  rift  made  by  the  wind,  they  followed  it  for 
another  hour,  till  at  length  they  beheld  the  stars 
and  stripes  of  the  American  flag  fluttering  on  a  hum- 
mock of  snow,  and  close  behind  it  was  the  tent  of 
the  lost. 

Dr.  Kane  was  among  the  last  to  come  up  ;  his 
men  were  all  standing  in  file  beside  the  tent,  waiting 
in  a  sort  of  awe  for  him  to  be  the  first  to  enter  it  and 
see  whether  their  messmates  still  lived.  He  crawled 
into  the  darkness,  and  heard  a  burst  of  welcome 
from  four  poor  helpless  figures  lying  stretched  on 
their  backs.  "  We  expected  you  !  We  were  sure 
you  would  come  !  "  and  then  burst  out  a  hearty 
cheer  outside,  and  for  the  first  time  Dr.  Kane  was 
wellnigh  overcome  by  strong  feeling. 

Here  were  fifteen  souls  in  all  to  be  brought  back 
to  the  ship.  The  new  comers  had  travelled  without 
rest  for  twenty-one  hours,  and  the  tent  would  barely 
hold  eight  men,  while  outside,  motion  was  the  only 
means  of  sustaining  life.  By  turns,  then,  the  rescue 
party  took  two  hours  of  sleep  each,  while  those  who 
remained  awake  paced  the  snow  outside,  and  food 
having  been  taken,  the  homeward  journey  began, 
but  not  till  all  the  sick  had  been  undressed,  rubbed, 
and  newly  packed  in  double  buffalo  skins,  in  which 
—  having  had  each  limb  swathed  in  reindeer  skins  — 
they  were  laid  on  their  own  sledge,  and  sewn  up  in 
one  huge  bale,  with  an  opening  over  each  mouth  for 
breathing.     This  took  four  hours,  and  gave  almost 


452  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

all  the  rescuers  frost-bitten  fingers,  and  then,  all 
hands  standing  round,  a  prayer  was  said,  and  the 
ten  set  out  to  drag  the  four  in  their  sledge  over  ice 
and  snow,  now  in  ridges,  now  in  hummocks,  up  and 
down,  hard  and  wild  beyond  conception.  Ohlsen 
was  sufficiently  restored  to  walk,  and  ali  went  cheer- 
fully for  about  six  hours,  when  every  one  became 
sensible  of  a  sudden  failure  of  their  powers. 

"  Bonsall  and  Morton,  two  of  our  stoutest  men, 
came  to  me,  begging  permission  to  sleep  ;  they  were 
not  cold,  the  wind  did  not  enter  them  now.  a  little 
sleep  was  all  that  they  wanted.  Presently  Hans 
was  found  nearly  stiff  under  a  drift,  and  Thomas, 
bolt  upright,  had  his  eyes  closed,  and  could  hardly 
articulate.  At  last  John  Blake  threw  himself  on  the 
snow,  and  refused  to  rise.  They  did  not  complain 
of  feeling  cold  ;  but  it  was  in  vain  that  I  wrestled, 
boxed,  ran,  argued,  jeered,  or  reprimanded,  an  im- 
mediate halt  could  not  be  avoided."  So  the  tent 
was  pitched  again  with  much  difficulty,  for  their 
hands  were  too  powerless  to  strike  a  light,  and  even 
the  whiskey,  which  had  been  put  under  all  the  cover- 
ings of  the  sledge  at  the  men's  feet,  was  frozen. 
Into  the  tent  all  the  sick  and  failing  were  put,  and 
James  M-Gary  was  left  in  charge  of  them,  with 
orders  to  come  on  after  a  halt  of  four  hours,  while 
Dr.  Kane  and  William  Godfrey  pushed  on  ahead, 
meaning  to  reach  the  tent  that  had  been  left  half- 
way, and  thaw  some  food  by  the  time  the  rest  came 
up.' 

Happily,  thev  were  on  a  level  tract  of  ice,  for  they 
could  hardly  have  contended  with  difficulties  in  the 
nine  miles  they  had  still  to  go  to  this  tent.  They 
were  neither  of  them  in  their  right  senses,  but  had 
resolution  enough  to  keep  moving,  and  imposing  on 
one  another  a  continued  utterance  of  words  ;  but 
they  lost  all  count  of  time,  and  could  only  remem- 
ber having  seen  a  bear  walking  leisurely  along,  and 


The  Rescue  Party.  453 

tearing  up  a  fur  garment  that  had  been  dropped  the 
day  before.  The  beast  rolled  it  into  a  ball,  but  took 
no  notice  of  them,  and  they  proceeded  steadily,  so 
"drunken  with  cold,"  that  they  hardly  had  power  to 
care  for  the  sight  of  their  half-way  tent  undergoing 
the  same  fate.  However,  their  approach  frightened 
away  the  bear,  after  it  had  done  no  worse  than  over- 
throwing the  tent.  The  exhausted  pair  raised  it 
writh  much  difficulty,  crawled  in,  and  slept  for  three 
hours.  When  they  awoke,  Dr.  Kane's  beard  was 
frozen  so  fast  to  the  buffalo-skin  over  him,  that  God- 
frey had  to  cut  him  out  with  his  jack-knife  ;  but  they 
had  recovered  their  faculties,  and  had  time  to  make 
a  fire,  thaw  some  ice,  and  make  some  soup  with  the 
pemmican,  before  the  rest  of  the  party  arrived. 

After  having  given  them  this  refreshment,  the  last 
stage  of  the  journey  began,  and  the  most  severe  ; 
for  the  ice  was  wild  and  rough,  and  exhaustion  was 
leading  to  the  most  grievous  of  losses,  —  that  of 
self-control  In  their  thirst,  some  could  no  longer 
abstain  from  eating  snow,  —  their  mouths  swelled, 
and  they  became  speechless ;  and  all  were  over- 
powered by  the  deadly  sleep  of  cold,  dropping  tor- 
pid upon  the  snow.  But  Dr.  Kane  found  that,  when 
roused  by  force  at  the  end  of  three  minutes,  these 
snatches  of  sleep  did  them  good,  and  each  in  turn 
was  allowed  to  sit  on  the  runners  of  the  sledge, 
watched,  and  awakened.  The  day  was  without  wind 
and  sunshiny,  otherwise  they  must  have  perished  ; 
for  the  whole  became  so  nearly  delirious,  that  they 
retained  no  recollection  of  their  proceedings  ;  they 
only  traced  their  course  afterwards  by  their  foot- 
marks. But  when  perception  and  memory  were  lost, 
obedience  and  self-devotion  lived  on,  — still  these 
hungry,  frost-bitten,  senseless  men  tugged  at  the 
sledge  that  bore  their  comrades,  —  still  held  to- 
gether, and  obeyed  their  leader,  who  afterwards 
continued  the  soundest  of  the  party.     One  was  sent 


454  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

staggering  forward,  and  was  proved  by  the  marks  in 
the  snow  to  have  repeatedly  fallen  ;  but  he  reached 

the  brig  safely,  and  was  capable  of  repeating  with 
perfect  accuracy  the  messages  Doctor  Kane  had 
charged  him  with  for  the  surgeon. 

A  dog-team,  with  a  sledge  and  some  restoratives, 
was  at  once  sent  out  to  meet  the  others,  with  the 
surgeon.  Dr.  Hayes,  who  was  shocked  at  the  con- 
dition in  which  he  encountered  them.  —  four  lying, 
sewn  up  in  furs,  on  the  sledge,  which  the  other  ten 
were  drawing.  These  ten.  three  days  since,  hardy, 
vigorous  men,  were  covered  with  frost,  feeble,  and 
bent.  They  gave  not  a  glance  of  recognition,  but 
only  a  mere  vacant,  wild  stare,  and  still  staggered 
on.  every  one  of  them  delirious.  It  was  one  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  that  they  arrived, 
after  sixty-six  hours'  exposure,  during  which  they 
had  been  almost  constantly  on  foot.  Most  of  those 
who  still  kept  their  footing  stumbled  straight  on.  as 
if  they  saw  and  heard  nothing,  till  they  came  to  the 
ship's  side,  where,  on  Dr.  Kane  giving  the  word  to 
halt,  they  dropped  the  lines,  mounted  the  ship's 
side,  and  each  made  straight  for  his  own  bed.  where 
he  rolled  in,  just  as  he  was,  in  all  his  icy  furs,  and 
fell  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

There  were  only  the  seven  who  had  been  left 
with  the  ship  (five  of  them  being  invalids)  to  carry 
up  the  four  helpless  ones,  and  attend  to  all  the  rest. 
Dr.  Kane,  indeed,  retained  his  faculties,  assisted  in 
earning  them  in.  and  saw  them  attended  to  ;  after 
which  he  lay  down  in  his  cot.  but.  after  an  hour  or 
two,  he  shouted.  "Halloo,  on  deck  there!"  and 
when  Dr.  Hayes  came  to  him.  he  gave  orders  "to 
call  all  hands  to  lay  aft.  and  take  two  reefs  in  the 
stove-pipe  !  "  In  like  manner,  each  of  the  party,  as 
he  awoke,  began  to  rave  ;  and  for  two  days  the  ship 
was  an  absolute  madhouse,  the  greater  part  of  its 
inmates  frantic  in  their  several  cots.     Dr.  Kane  was 


The  Rescue  Party.  455 

the  first  to  recover,  —  Ohlsen  the  last,  his  mind  con- 
stantly running  upon  the  search  for  his  comrades  in 
the  tent,  which  he  thought  himself  the  only  person 
able  to  discover.  Of  those  whom  the  party  had 
gone  to  assist,  good  "  Irish  Tom  "  soon  recovered  ; 
but  two  died  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  and  the 
rest  suffered  very  severely. 

The  rest  of  Dr.  Kane's  adventures  cannot  here 
be  told;  suffice  it_to  say,  that  his  ship  remained 
immovable,  and,  after  a  second  winter  of  terrible 
suffering  from  the  diseases  induced  by  the  want  of 
fresh  meat  and  vegetables,  — the  place  of  which  was 
ill-supplied  by  rats,  puppies,  and  scurvy-grass,  —  it 
was  decided  to  take  to  the  boats ;  and,  between 
these  and  sledges,  the  ship's  company  of  the  Ad- 
vance, at  last,  found  their  way  to  Greenland,  after 
so  long  a  seclusion  from  all  European  news,  that, 
when  first  they  heard  of  the  Crimean  war,  they 
thought  an  alliance  between  England  and  France 
a  mere  hallucination  of  their  ignorant  informant. 
Dr.  Kane,  —  always  an  unhealthy  man,  —  did  not 
live  long  after  his  return  ;  but  he  survived  long 
enough  to  put  on  record  one  of  the  most  striking 
and  beautiful  histories  of  patience  and  unselfish- 
ness that  form  part  of  the  best  treasury  this  world 
has  to  show. 


H~. 


THE  CHILDREN  IN  THE  WOOD  OF  THE  FAR 
SOUTH. 

1864. 

OUR  roll  of  Golden  Deeds  is  nearly  at  an  end  ; 
not  indeed  that  acts  of  self-devotion  are  ex- 
hausted, but  that  full  and  authentic  particulars  have 
not  reached  us  of  more  than  we  have  related.  We 
have  not  ventured  to  tell  the  stories  of  the  gentle- 
men, who,  in  the  Indian  mutiny,  rode  for  miles 
through  an  enemy's  country,  under  a  burning  sun, 
with  the  young  child  of  a  friend  in  their  arms.  One 
of  these  little  creatures,  still  under  three  years  old, 
whose  protector  had  had  to  fight  his  way  through 
the  natives  with  her  on  his  horse's  neck,  was  too 
young  to  know  what  she  owed  to  him.  and  only  re- 
membered the  horrors  of  her  ride,  so  that  when  he 
was  at  length  able  to  restore  her  to  her  mother,  she 
shrank  from  him.  and  would  not  even  look  at  him. 
The  other  little  girl,  a  little  Miss  Christian,  not  four 
years  old.  was  only  rescued  for  the  time  to  fall  with 
her  protector  into  the  possession  of  a  native  prince, 
who  retained  them  in  his  power  while  besieging 
Lucknow.  The  child  pined  and  died  before  the 
time  of  release  came,  but  her  illness  was  the  occa- 
sion of  an  unlooked-for  comfort  to  her  companions 
in  captivity.  A  native  doctor,  who  was  allowed  to 
prescribe  for  her,  sent  some  powders  for  her  wrapped 
in  a  chance  bit  of  printed  paper.     It  proved  to  be 


The  Children  in  the  Wood  of  the  Far  South.  457 

the  leaf  of  a  torn  Bible,  and  these  were  the  words 
that  it  bore :  "  I,  even  I,  am  He  that  comforteth 
you :  who  art  thou,  that  thou  shouldest  be  afraid  of 
a  man  that  shall  die,  and  of  the  son  of  man  that 
shall  be  made  as  grass  ;  and  forgettest  the  Lord 
thy  Maker,  that  hath  stretched  forth  the  heavens, 
and  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth  ;  and  hast 
feared  continually  every  day  because  of  the  fury  of 
the  oppressor,  —  and  where  is  the  fury  of  the  op- 
pressor ?  The  captive  exile  hasteneth  that  he  may 
be  loosed,  and  that  he  should  not  die  in  the  pit,  nor 
that  his  bread  should  fail.  But  I  am  the  Lord  thy 
God,  that  divided  the  sea,  whose  waves  roared.  The 
Lord  of  hosts  is  His  Name."     (Is.  li.  12 — 15.) 

The  few  survivors  of  that  band  of  "  captive  ex- 
iles "  have  declared  that  these  words  were  to  them 
a  message  of  exceeding  joy  and  hope  of  deliverance 
from  the  fury  of  the  oppressor,  and  that  they  were 
thus  greatly  strengthened  to  endure  unto  the  end. 
Neither  the  child  nor  her  rescuer  were  among  them. 
They  had  both  been  set  free  by  sickness  from  cap- 
tivity and  all  other  ills  of  this  mortal  life. 

Neither  can  we  here  pause  upon  the  story  of  Ar- 
thur Cheek,  the  young  ensign  of  only  sixteen  years 
old,  who  at  Allahabad,  sorely  wounded  and  dying 
of  thirst,  not  only  was  steadfast  in  confessing  his 
own  faith,  but  by  his  exclamation,  "  O,  my  friend, 
come  what  may,  do  not  deny  the  Lord  Jesus,"  pre- 
vented the  apostasy  of  a  convert  from  Mahometan- 
ism,  whom  the  Sepoys  were  cruelly  torturing.  A 
sudden  attack  of  the  Madras  fusileers  saved  the 
convert,  but  it  was  too  late  to  save  the  martyr  boy, 
who  had  sunk  to  rest  ere  his  countrymen  had  made 
their  way  into  the  city. 

We  must  turn  from  these,  and  speak  of  those 
little  elder  sisters,  almost  mothers  in  their  love  and 
devotion.  We  see  such  little  heroines  oftener  than 
we   think  dragging   about  babies  as  big  as  them- 


458  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

selves,  to  whom  they  often  give  the  last  morsel 
when  they  are  hungry  enough  themselves,  or  rush- 
ing almost  under  horses'  hoofs,  or  carriage-wheels, 
to  snatch  some  unlucky  brother  from  the  destruc- 
tion into  which  he  is  just  big  enough  to  toddle.  Per- 
haps the  most  notable  of  all  these  sisters  was  Fran- 
chise Marie,  of  Rochebeaucour,  who,  at  eleven  years 
old,  was  left  an  orphan  with  a  little  brother  of  four, 
to  whom  she  fully  did  a  mother's  part  for  three  years, 
maintaining  him  entirely  by  her  knitting  and  spin- 
ning, until,  in  a  severe  winter,  a  wolf  with  five 
whelps  burst  into  the  cottage,  attracted  by  the 
smell  of  the  hot  loaves  that  Francoise  had  been 
baking. 

She  had  almost  driven  the  she-wolf  off  with  a 
heavy  stick,  when,  seeing  one  of  the  cubs  about  to 
attack  her  brother,  she  seized  the  boy,  thrust  him 
into  a  cupboard,  and  buttoned  the  door.  That  mo- 
ment gave  the  wolf  time  to  fly  on  her  throat,  and 
the  next  moment  she  was  the  prey  of  the  wild 
beasts.  Her  brother  remained  safe,  though  unable 
to  get  out  of  the  cupboard  till  released  by  the 
neighbors.  He  was  an  old  man  in  1796,  still  cher- 
ishing the  memory  of  the  mother-like  sister  who 
had  died  to  save  him. 

Nor  may  we  forget  the  little  Scottish  sister,  who, 
when  lost  with  her  little  brother  on  the  mountain 
side,  was  saved  by  the  good  collie  dog,  who  sped 
home  to  call  help,  and  guided  the  father  to  the  spot 
where,  buried  far  under  a  snow-drift,  lay  the  two 
children,  the  younger  wrapped  in  all  the  warmer  gar- 
ments of  the  elder.  Both  survived,  thanks  to  the 
good  dog's  timely  sagacity.  Indeed,  we  believe  that 
a  chapter  of  canine  deeds  almost  deserving  the  name 
of  golden,  might  be  brought  together  in  honor  of  our 
faithful  comrades.  There  was  Delta,  the  dog  whose 
skeleton  was  disinterred  at  Herculaneum,  stretched 
over  that  of  a  boy  of  twelve  years  old,  with  an  in- 


The  Children  in  the  Wood  of  the  Far  South.  459 

scription  on  his  collar,  telling  that  he  had  three  times 
saved  the  life  of  his  master, — from  the  sea,  from 
robbers,  and  from  wolves  ;  there  was  Phileros,  the 
dog  of  Athens,  who  broke  his  leg  by  leaping  after 
his  young  master  when  he  had  fallen  out  at  the  win- 
dow, and  finally  died  of  grief  on  his  grave  ;  there 
was  the  dog  who  is  commemorated  in  Vandyke's 
picture  of  the  Duke  of  Richmond,  whom  his  sagacity 
and  courage  had  saved  from  assassins  ;  there  was 
the  dog  who  awoke  his  master,  Lord  Forbes,  at 
Castle  Forbes,  in  Ireland,  and  dragged  him,  half 
suffocated  and  helpless,  from  his  burning  bedroom ; 
there  was  the  well-known  dog  who  daily  carried  ban- 
nocks to  the  shepherd's  child  lost  in  the  cave  behind 
the  waterfall ;  there  was  the  Newfoundland  dog  who 
won  a  silver  collar  by  saving  first  the  postman,  and 
then  his  letter-bag  from  the  water  of  a  swelled  ford. 
Gellert  must  be  given  up,  since  his  story  proves  to 
be  only  a  western  version  of  an  Indian  legend  of  a 
serpent  and  mungoose,  instead  of  a  wolf  and  a 
hound,  but  there  is  no  passing  by  the  dog  of  Mon- 
targis,  who,  under  Charles  VI.  of  France,  vainly  de- 
fended his  master,  Aubri  de  Montdidier,  when  set 
upon  by  his  mortal  foe,  Macaire  ;  then  lay  day  and 
night  on  the  forest  grave  where  Macaire  hoped  his 
crime  was  hidden,  only  going  to  the  house  of  his 
master's  chief  friend  in  Paris,  for  his  daily  meal,  un- 
til at  length  he  was  followed,  the  ground  searched, 
the  murder  discovered,  and  the  corpse  freshly 
buried.  Afterwards,  the  dog's  furious  attacks  upon 
Macaire  were  deemed  an  accusation,  and  the  matter 
was  put  to  the  proof  by  the  ordeal  of  combat  in  the 
Isle  de  Notre  Dame.  The  dog  had  a  tub  into  which 
he  might  retire,  the  man  a  club  and  a  shield.  The 
combat  was  so  lengthy  that  Macaire,  no  doubt  from 
the  force  of  conscience,  was  so  worn  out  that  he 
fainted  away,  and  on  coming  to  himself  owned  the 
deed.     Dogs  of  St.  Bernard  and  Newfoundland  dogs 


460  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

rise  before  us  by  scores  when  we  think  of  these  gal- 
lant doings,  —  among  them  the  strange  black  dog 
who  came  to  the  lone  widow's  house  the  night  she 
had  with  her  all  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  her  ef- 
fects, fought  manfully  till  he  drove  off  the  thieves 
who  assailed  the  house,  and  disappeared  so  myste- 
riously next  morning,  that  she  always  regarded  him 
as  a  special  messenger  of  Providence  for  her  pro- 
tection. The  touching  picture  of  "  Rab  and  his 
friends  "  is  no  unique  incident ;  it  is  only  that  in 
Dr.  John  Brown  it  met  with  a  spectator  and  biogra- 
pher able  to  appreciate  and  regard  the  beautiful  af- 
fection and  fidelity  that  our  Maker  has  embodied 
before  our  eyes  in  these  His  good  creatures.  If,  as 
some  wise  men  have  deemed,  the  brutes  are  created 
to  show  us,  in  living  shape,  figures  and  emblems  of 
our  own  qualities,  the  dog,  with  his  master  taking  to 
him  the  place  of  our  Great  Master,  is  most  certainly 
the  living  type  of  that  heart-whole  devotion  which 
is  the  root  of  Golden  Deeds. 

But  we  must  pass  on  to  the  latest  of  which  we 
have  heard,  and  then  turn  aside  from  the  roll  that 
has  truly  been  a  labor  of  love  and  refreshment. 

It  was  in  Australia,  —  that  great  and  somewhat 
repulsive  southern  island,  or  rather  continent,  that 
has  deranged  the  convenient  old  geographical  ar- 
rangement of  four  quarters  of  the  world,  and  will- 
ingly or  unwillingly  has  received  a  large  proportion 
of  the  English  population,  before  whom  the  poor 
feeble  native  race  are  fast  dwindling  away. 

Under  English  management,  Australia  is  excel- 
lent for  sheep  farms  ;  but  the  "bush,"  as  colonists 
everywhere  call  uncleared  forest  land,  is  particularly 
desolate  and  dreary.  And  it  was  into  such  bush 
that,  in  the  winter  of  1864,  the  three  little  children 
of  a  carpenter,  named  Duff,  at  a  station  near  Mel- 
bourne, were  often  sent  out  to  gather  broom.  The 
eldest  was  a  boy  of  nine  years  old  ;  Jane,  his  sister, 


The  Children  in  the  Wood  of  the  Far  South.  461 

was  seven,  and  little  Frank  was  five.  One  evening 
they  did  not  come  back,  and  their  parents  became 
alarmed.  There  are,  indeed,  in  Australia  no  dan- 
gerous wild  beasts,  such  as  the  bears  that  two  little 
lost  Canadian  babes  once  called  to  as  their  father's 
oxen,  "  Buck  "  and  "  Bell  "  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  are  no  raspberries,  such  as  sustained  those 
little  wanderers,  —  not  even  the  "  blackberries  "  that 
"  dyed  the  pretty  lips  "  of  our  own  "  Babes  in  the 
Wood," — only  dull  gum-trees,  with  oddly-shaped 
cones  and  blue  upright  leaves,  and  bark  that  they 
shed  instead  of  changing  leaves, — she-oak  trees, 
with  hard  joints,  like  overgrown  English  horse-tails, 
—  monstrous  nettle-trees,  like  a  bad  dream  of  our 
English  stinging-nettle,  —  all  growing  in  such  similar 
shapes  and  clusters,  that  it  is  a  most  difficult,  nay, 
impossible,  thing  for  a  person  once  lost  to  recover 
his  bearings  ;  and,  worse  than  all,  the  drought  is 
terrible,  so  that  thirst  will  cause  a  more  painful 
death  than  even  hunger.  Stout  men,  sturdy  explor- 
ers, have  been  known  to  lie  down,  famished,  to  die 
in  this  inhospitable  forest ;  and  what  could  be  the 
fate  of  the  poor  little  children  ? 

The  father  and  his  neighbors  in  vain  shouted 
"  Cooee !  "  (the  bush  call),  and  sought  the  country 
day  after  day,  until  a  week  had  passed  ;  when  he 
obtained  the  aid  of  some  of  the  natives,  who,  de- 
spised as  they  are  by  the  colonists,  have  a  wonder- 
ful power  of  tracking  the  faintest  trail  in  their  for- 
ests. They  soon  made  out  signs  where  the  children 
had  been,  from  the  bendings  of  the  twigs  or  the 
tramplings  of  the  grass.  "  Here  little  one  tired," 
they  said  ;  "  sit  down.  Big  one  kneel  down  ;  carry 
him  along.  Here  travel  all  night;  dark,  —  not  see 
that  bush  ;  her  fall  on  him."  Then  came  :  "Here 
little  one  tired  again  ;  big  one  kneel  down  ;  no  get 
up,  — fall  flat  on  face." 

The  children  had  been  lost  on  Friday  afternoon. 


462  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

On  the  Saturday  week,  the  blacks  led  the  father  up 
to  a  clump  of  broom,  where  lay  three  little  figures, 
the  least  in  the  middle,  with  his  sister's  frock  over  his 
own  clothes.  Duff  went  up  to  them,  comforted,  at 
least,  that  he  could  carry  home  the  little  corpses  to 
their  mother.  But  the  eldest  boy  roused  himself, 
sat  up,  and  said,  u  Father  !  "  then  fell  back  from 
sheer  weakness  ;  and,  indeed,  his  lips  were  so 
shrunk,  that  they  could  no  longer  cover  his  teeth. 
Little  Frank  awoke  as  if  from  a  quiet  sleep.  "  Father, 
why  did  'nt  you  come  before  ?  "  he  said  ;  "we  were 
cooeeing  for  you."  Jane  was  scarcely  alive  ;  when 
she  was  lifted  up,  she  only  made  a  murmur  of  "  Cold, 
—  cold  !  "  If  neither  had  lived  to  tell  the  tale,  little 
Frank's  condition,  so  much  better  than  that  of  his 
elders,  would  have  told  how  free  from  selfishness 
their  behavior  must  have  been  through  all  that 
dreadful  week.  When  the  elder  brother  was  car- 
ried past  the  places  that  the  blacks  had  pointed  out, 
his  account  of  their  wanderings  and  adventures  ex- 
actly agreed  with  what  the  natives  had  inferred. 
He  said  that  this  whole  time  they  had  been  without 
food,  and  had  only  had  one  drink  of  water,  —  per- 
haps from  the  "pitcher  plant,"  which  is  a  native  of 
those  woods,  and  has  a  wonderfully-shaped  cup, 
which  retains  water  for  many  weeks.  A  man  had 
been  known  to  live  eleven  days  in  the  bush  upon 
nothing  but  water  ;  but  the  endurance  of  these  little 
ones  was  even  more  wonderful. 

They  were  all  fast  recovering  ;  and  the  feeling  of 
admiration  for  little  Jane  was  so  strong  in  the  col- 
ony, that  a  subscription  was  being  raised  for  her, 
which  soon  amounted  to  several  hundred  pounds. 
May  it  be  well  and  wisely  laid  out  on  her  behalf, 
and  may  her  further  life  be  worthy  of  the  Golden 
Deed  of  her  childhood  ! 


-*&■ 


CHRONOLOGICAL    TABLE. 


A  table  is  here  given  to  enable  the  reader  to  arrange 
the  various  events  related  according  to  time  and  place. 
Those  in  capitals  are  those  circumstantially  narrated  ; 
the  others  are  those  merely  alluded  to. 


Date 


E.C. 

1068. 

I050. 

512. 

5°7- 
480. 
389- 
380. 

339- 
326. 
294. 
249. 
219. 
180. 
52. 

A.D. 

42. 

60. 
290. 
306. 
389- 


Deed 
Alcestis's   Sacrifice  for   her  Hus- 
band     

Antigone's  Burial  of  her  Brother      .     . 

Codrus's  Devotion 

David's  Draught  of  Water  .     .     . 

The  Silence  of  Leaena 

Horatius  at  the  Bridge  .... 
The  Spartans  at  Thermopylae  .     . 

cominius  at  the  rock 

Damon's  Friendship 

The  Devotion  ofDecius  the  Elder 
Alexander's  Cup  of  Water  .  .  . 
The  Devotion  of  Decius  the  Younger  . 
The  Constancy  of  Regulus   .     .     . 

The  Rescue  of  Scipio 

The  Rising  of  the  Maccabees  .  . 
The  Surrender  of  Vercingetorix    . 

The  Affection  of  Arria 

The  Sentinel  at  Pompeii 

Beatrix  Burying  her  Brother  .... 

Natalia's  Affection  ...... 

The  Rebuke  to  Theodosius  .  .  . 
The  Hermit  in  the  Coliseum  .     . 


Place 


Pai 


Thrace   .     . 

11 

Thebes  .     . 

13 

Athens    .     . 

63 

Palestine     . 

17 

Athens    .     . 

5 

Rome      .     . 

23 

Thessaly 

34 

Rome      .     . 

45 

Syracuse 

58 

Italy  .     .     . 

63 

Persia      .     . 

20 

Italy  .     .     . 

68 

Carthage 

71 

Italy  .     .     . 

268 

Palestine     . 

78 

Gaul  .     .     . 

88 

Rome 

147 

Italy  .     .     . 

4 

Rome      .     . 

217 

Bithynia 

•     147 

Milan      .     . 

.       99 

Egyptian     . 

105 

464 

Date 
4S; 
533- 
991. 

1064. 

1066. 


Chronological  Table. 

Deed  Place 

Genevieve  Pleading  for  Paris  .     .  Paris  .     . 

The  Escape  of  Attalus      ....  France   . 

The  Eattle  of  the  Blackwater  .  Essex 

The  Rebuke  to  Svend Denmark 

The  Northman  on  Stamford  Bridge      .  England 

The  Ladies  of  Weinsburg Germany 

Rodolf's  Draught  of  Water     ....  Germany 

Guzman's  Fidelity Tarifa     . 

Gertrude  von  de  Wart's  Faithful- 
ness        Austria  . 

Dieudonne's  Submission Rhodes  . 

Surrender    of    the     Burghers    of 

Calais Calais     . 

Winkelried's  Charge Switzerland 

The  Succorer  of  Rothsay Scotland 

Fern  an  do's  Constancy Africa     . 

Catharine  Douglas's  Defence  .     .  Scotland 
Helen    Kottexner    and    St.    Ste- 
phen's Crown Hungary- 

The  Succorer  of  Gilles  de  Bretagne  .     .  Brittany 

George  the  Triller's  Rescue    .     .  Saxony  . 

The  Spaniard  at  the  Gates  of  Granada  Spain 

Margaret  Roper's  Filial  Love      .     .     .  England 

Kourbsky's  Letter-Carrier   .     .     .  Russia    . 

Defence  of  Fort  St.   Elmo   .     .     .  Malta     . 

Sidney's  Draught  of  Water      .     .  Holland. 

Borromeo  in  the  Plagle  of  Milan  Milan     . 

Vincent  de  Paul  as  a  Convict  .     .  France   . 

The  Housewives  of  Lowenburg  .     .  Germany 

The  Spanish  Infantry's  Fall  at  Rocroy  Flanders 

The  Lindsays  at  Edgehill    .     .     .  England 

The  Flask  at  Flensborg Holstein 

The  Plague-Stricken  Eyam  .     .     .  England 

The  Soldiers'  Cloaks  covering  Turenne  Germany 
Lady    Edgeworth's     Presence     of 

Mind Ireland  . 

Helen  Walker's  Petition     .     .     .  England 
Bishop  Belzunce  in  the  Plague  of 

Marseilles France    . 


Page 


[793- 
1793- 


Chronological  Table.  465 

Date  Deed  Place  Page 

1760.     The  Shout  of  d'Assas Germany     .  .  32 

1790.     Madame  Augguier  at  the  Queen's  Door  France 

1792.     The  Rescue  of  AbbiS  Sicard  .     .     .  France 

1792.     The  Daughters'  Defence  ....  France  V-    .  .  309 

1792.     The      Princesse      de      Lamballe's 

Friendship France 

The  Revolt  of  La  Vendue    .     .     .  France    .     .  .  318 

The  Faithful  Slaves  of  Haiti      .  West  Indies  .  339 

1798.     Casabianca's  Obedience      ....  Aboukir  Bay  .  275 

18 — .     Rose  Pasquer's  Faithfulness    ....  France    .     .  .  403 

1804.     The  Gunpowder  at  St.   Heliers    .  Jersey    .     .  .  288 

1804.  Crew  of  the  Hindostan Mediterranean  290 

1805.  Prascovia's  Journey Russia    .     .  .  348 

1807.  The  Fortitude  of  Agnes  Green    .  England      .  .  368 

1808.  The  Defence  of  Zaragoza     .     .     .  Spain      .     .  .  375 

181 1.  The  Field  of  Casal  Novo     .     .     .  Spain      .     .  .  383 

1812.  The  Magazine  of  Ciudad  Rodrigo  Spain      .     .  .  291 
1812.     The  Hessian  Soldiers  in  the  Re- 
treat    Russia    .     .  .  280 

1812.     Jeanne  Parelle's   Filial  Piety      .  France   .     .  .  395 

1816.     Mr.  Buxton  and  the  Mad  Dog     .  England      .  .  389 

1820.     The  Fire  at  Strasburg France    .     .  .  292 

1822.  The  Crew  of  the  Drake  ....  Newfoundland  413 

1823.  Mere  Jaquemin  and  her  Lodger  .  France  .     .  .  408 

1824.  The  Saint  Remi  Fever France   .     .  .  430 

1825.  The  Osmotherly  Fever      ....  England      .  .  423 

1825.  Defying  the  Volcano Hawaii  .     .  .  431 

1826.  The  Loss  of  the  Magpie   ....  West  Indies  .  417 
1830.     Albony's  Fight  with  the  Mad  Dog  .     .  France    .     .  .  392 
1830.     Fanny  Muller's  Self-denial     .     .  France   .     .  .  407 
1830.     Martin's  Fidelity  to  Sully's  De- 
scendants  .........  France   ...  401 

1837.  Jean  Vigier's  Love  to  his  Mother  France    ...  399 

1838.  Grace  Darling England      .  .  444 

1840.     Madeline  Saunier's  Charity      .     .  France    .     .  .  409 

iZ-o.c.  Soldiers  in  the  Birkenhead     .     .  African  Coast  .  438 

Crew  of  the  Atalante      ......  Nova  Scotia  .  436 

Anna  Gurney's  Rescues      ....  England      .  .  441 


466 


Chronological  Table. 


Date  Deed 

1848.  Paul  Dunez's  Faithfulness   .     .     . 

1852.  Madeleine  Blanchet's  Defence    . 

1853.  Dr.   Kane's  Rescue  Party      .     .     . 

1854.  Dr.  Thomson  at  the  Alma 

1854.  Florence  Nightingale 

1857.  Lieutenant   Willoughby  in  the  Maga- 
zine at  Delhi 

1857.  Dr.  Hay  at  Benares 

1857.  Deeds  of  the  English  in  the  Mutiny 

1863.  Unselfish  Soldier 

1864.  Dying  Engineer 

1864.  Australian  Children  in  the  Wood 


Place  Page 

Cayenne  .  .  345 
France  .  .  .  403 
Arctic  Regions  447 
Crimea  . 
Crimea  . 


India 
India 
India 
V.  States 
U.  States 
Australia 


295 

7 
456 

9 

9 

456 


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I 


THE 

PILGRIM'S    PROGRESS 

FROM  THIS  WORLD  TO  THAT  WHICH  IS  TO  COME 
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creative  minds.  One  of  these  minds  prodiiced  the  Paradise 
Lost;  the  other,  the  Pilgrim's  Progress."  —  Macaulay. 

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"  We  believe  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  to  be  as  original  a  work  as 
ever  was  written.  It  has  gone  through  numerous  editions,  many 
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Press  —  is  incomparably  the  best  of  which  we  can  boast.  It  has 
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Press.  Cambridge,  it  would  have  consoled  him  for  many  of  the 
trials  he  encountered  on  his  steep  and  thorny  road  to  heaven. 
But  he  was  not  a  man  of  great  worldly  sagacity  ;  as  he  says  in 
his  apology  for  his  book,  — 

'  When  at  first  I  took  my  pen  in  hand 
Thu^  for  to  write,  I  did  not  understand 
That  I  at  all  should  make  a  little  Book 
In  such  a  mode.' 
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a  book  which  can  never  be  multiplied  too  much,  or  too  richly 
adorned  by  the  printer's  and  engraver's  arts." 

ST.  JOHNS   GLOBE. 

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grows  mellow  with  age,  never  loses  its  freshness.  Nearly  two 
hundred  years  have  elapsed  since  it  was  sent  forth  to  the  world, 
but  it  is  as  generally  read  now,  and  exercises  as  powerful  an  influ- 
ence, as  it  did  when  the  author  first  published  it." 


THE 

BOOK    OF    PRAISE 

FROM    THE    BEST    ENGLISH    HYMN-WRITERS 

SELECTED    AND    ARRANGED 

By    ROUNDELL    PALMER 

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regard  to  creeds,  but  only  with  reference  to  their  poetic  excel- 
lence and  their  religious  purity.  It  contains  the  choicest  hymns 
which  have  been  written,  gathered  from  all  sources,  whether  lay 
or  clerical,  and  judged  only  by  pure  religion  and  a  high  poetic 
standard.  In  all  cases  where  it  is  known,  the  authorship  is  given. 
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quaintance." 

NEW  YORK  METHODIST. 
"This  is  in  every  way  an  attractive  book.  First,  it  is  agreeable 
to  find  Sir  Roundell  Palmer,  the  British  Attorney-General,  in- 
terested in  such  a  work  as  compiling  a  book  of  the  most  spirited 
and  evangelical  hymns  in  the  English  language.  Then  it  is 
agreeable  to  know  that  the  compiler's  taste  corresponds  so  de- 
cidedly with  one's  own.  And  finally,  it  is  pleasant  to  find  the 
publishers  conceiving  so  worthily  of  their  task,  and  presenting 
these  sacred  lyrics  of  the  Christian  Church  in  so  graceful  and 
chaste  a  form  before  the  public  eye." 

HALIFAX   PRESBYTERIAN   WITNESS. 
"This  is  a  beautiful  collection  of  the  very  cream  of  our  Eng- 
lish  Hymns,   carefully  selected  and  skilfully  arranged." 


THE 

CHILDREN'S     GARLAND 

FROM     THE     BEST     POETS 

SELECTED    AND    ARRANGED 

By    COVENTRY    PATMORE 

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Price,   §  1.75. 

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of  Poetry,  selected  with  the  matured  judgment  of  a  man  con- 
centrated on  obtaining  insight  into  the  feelings  and  tastes  of 
childhood,  and  desirous  to  awaken  its  finest  impulses,  to  cul- 
tivate its  keenest  sensibilities." 

CINCINNATI  GAZETTE. 
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wonderful  specimens  of  the  art,  but  in  exquisite  finish  it  has 
never  equalled  the  evidence  of  its  skill  which  now  lies  before  us. 
The  text,  compared  with  the  average  specimens  of  modern  books, 
shines  out  with  as  bright  a  contrast  as  an  Elzevir  by  the  side  of 
one  of  its  dingy  and  bleared  contemporaries.  In  the  quality 
of  its  paper,  in  its  vignettes  and  head-pieces,  the  size  of  its 
pages,  in  every  feature  that  can  gratify  the  eye,  indeed,  the 
1  Garland  '  could  hardly  bear  improvement.  Similar  in  its  gen- 
eral getting  up  to  the  much-admired  Golden  Treasury  of  English 
Songs  and  Lyrics,  issued  by  the  same  publishers  a  few  months 
since,  it  excels,  we  think,  in  the  perfection  of  various  minor 
details. " 

NEW  YORK  WORLD. 
i:  It  is  a  beautiful  book,  —  the  most  beautiful  in  some  respects 
that  has  been  published  for  years  ;  going  over  a  large  number  of 
poets  and  wide  range  of  themes  as  none  but  a  poet  could  have 
done.  A  choice  cabinet  of  precious  jewels,  or  better  still,  a 
dainty  wreath  of  blossoms, —  'The  Chjldren"s  Garland."  " 

BOSTON  TRANSCRIPT. 
"  It  is  in  all  respects  a  delicious  volume,  and  will  be  as  great  a 
favorite  with  the  elder  as  with  the  younger  members  of  every 
family  into  which  it  penetrates.  Some  of  the  best  poems  in  the 
English  language  are  included  in  the  selections.  Paper,  printing, 
and  binding,  — indeed,  all  the  elements  entering  into  the  mechani- 
cal execution  of  the  book,  —  offer  to  the  view  nothing  wherein 
the  most  fastidious  eye  can  detect  a  blemish. " 

SPRINGFIELD    REPUBLICAN. 
"  It  is  almost  too  dainty  a  book  to  be  touched,  and  yet  it  is  sure 
to  be  well  thumbed  whenever  it  falls  into  the  hands  of  a  lover  of 
genuine  poetry." 

4 


THE 

GOLDEN     TREASURY 

OF    THE    BEST    SONGS    AND   LYRICAL    POEMS   IN 
THE  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE 

SELECTED    AND    ARRANGED    WITH    NOTES 

By  FRANCIS  TURNER  PALGRAVE 

FELLOW  OF  EXETER  COLLEGE  OXFORD 

i6mo.     Green  Vellum.     Price,  $  1.75. 

LONDON   SPECTATOR. 

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more  delightful  companion  than  this We  have  few  criti- 
cisms to  make  upon  this  volume,  which  must  not  only  be  read, 
but  possessed,  in  order  to  be  adequately  valued. " 

BOSTON   TRANSCRIPT. 

"The  volume  is  indeed  worthy  to  be  ranked  among  those  rare 
volumes  of  selections  which  really  educate  the  public  taste. 
Anybody  who  will  read  this  volume  through,  and  thoroughly 
appreciate  its  rich  contents,  may  be  sure  that  he  has  a  true  sense 
of"  the  inmost  essence  of  poetry." 

BOSTON   COURIER. 

"  It  is  an  exquisite  gem  of  a  book  in  print,  paper,  and  binding. 
Its  intrinsic  merits  are  not  less  ;  for  we  hold  it  to  be,  on  the 
whole,  the  very  best  selection  of  poetry,  for  its  size,  in  the  lan- 
guage. There  is  not  a  poem  in  it  which  is  not  of  enduring 
merit." 

NEW  YORK   INDEPENDENT. 

" Among  all  the  books  of  this  new  era  of  elegance,  two 

have  been  on  the  whole  distinctly  the  most  beautiful,  namely,  De 
Tocqueville's  Democracy  in  America,  and  the  present  '  Golden 
Treasury.'  Both  are  better  manufactured  books  than  England 
can  show  ;  for  although  it  is  true  that  the  materials  for  both 
were  in  part  imported,  yet  the  deft  touch  of  American  fingers, 
the  keen  sight  and  judgment  and  'faculty'  of  American  eye 
and  brain,  impart  a  finish  and  an  altogether  (this  is  much  better 
than  to  steal  '  tout  ensemble '  from  the  wicked  Emperor)  which 
John  Bull's  big,  thumby  fingers  can  in  no  wise  attain  unto.  We 
recommend  attention  to  the  singularly  clear  and  elegant  cut 
of  the  type,  more  particularly  in  the  exquisite  nonpareil  of  the 
notes  ;  the  perfect  clearness  and  evenness  of  the  press-work  ;  the 
workmanlike  finish  and  tasteful  design  of  the  binding,  entirely 
simple,  yet  ornamental  in  the  best  sense  ;  and  the  sharp  delicacy 
in  design  and  impression  of  the  engraved  tail-pieces  and  head- 
pieces." 

5 


The  Golden    Treasury  Juvenile. 
DREAM    CHILDREN 

BY    THE    AUTHOR    OF    "  SEVEN    LITTLE    PEOPLE    AND    THErR 
FRIENDS." 

Embellished  by  full-page  Illustrations  after  designs  by  White, 

with  ornamental   Initials,   illustrating  each  story. 

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NORTH  AMERICAN  REVIEW. 
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its  finely-cut  type,  the  appropriate  originality  of  its  initial  letters, 
the  excellence  of  its  large  illustrations,  are  only  the  befitting 
dress  and  adornment  of  stories  delightful  alike  in  feeling  and  in 
fancy." 

SPRINGFIELD    REPUBLICAN. 
"It  has  an  individuality  and  flavor  of  its  own,  is  very  charm- 
ing as  a  work  of  fancy,  and  healthful  in  the  tone  which  breathes 
through  the  stories,  like  fragrance  through  a  grove  of  pines." 

BOSTON  JOURNAL. 
"  It  is  a  book  for  children  ;  written  not  down  to  them,  as  some 
by  mistaken  opinion  are,  but  up  :  so  that  it  will  not  be  found  un- 
interesting to  the  most  thoughtful  reader.  If  any  one  has  a 
child  whom  he  loves,  and  in  whose  genius  he  particularly  delights 
and  hopes,  let  him  buy  this  book,  and  in  an  auspicious  hour, 
perchance  when  day  fades  into  twilight,  let  him  read  one  of  these 
stories  to  him,  and  he  will  find  out  better  than  from  any  other 
critic  their  value  and  their  meaning." 

CLEVELAND  DAILY  HERALD. 
"  In  the  opinion  of  a  jury  of  little  critics  to  whom  the  book 
was  submitted,  and  whose  decisions  have  considerable  weight 
with  us  in  matters  of  juvenile  literature.  Dream  Children  is 
'  one  of  the  very  best  and  nicest '  books  of  its  class,  and  it  occu- 
pies a  place  of  honor  on  the  children's  shelf." 


"  Dream  Children  is  as  ideal  and  imaginative  as  childhood 
itself.  Whoever  reads  it,  no  matter  of  what  age,  will  be  morally 
elevated  and  refined  at  beholding  the  beautiful  exposition  of 
what  is  most  lovely  in  humanity  enacted  in  the  world  of  flowers 
and  animals.  The  sense  of  what  we  read  is  twofold  more  affect- 
ing when  we  can  see  our  very  selves  through  the  thin  veil  of 
fable,  fairy,  and  allegory.  This  is  a  book  which  one  would  de- 
light in  reading  to  his  child,  alone,  in  some  quiet,  large  arm-chair  ; 
or  if  he  had  no  child,  to  ma'-  e  him  wish  that  he  had  ;  for  it  is  of 
that  character  of  excellence  to  so  commend  itself,  you  wish 
everybody  to  know  and  have  it." 


A    NEW    EDITION    OF 

DE    TOCQUEVILLE'S 

DEMOCRACY    IN    AMERICA 

Translated  by  Henry  Reeve,  Esq.  Edited,  with 
Notes,  the  Translation  Revised  and  in  great  part 
Rewritten,  and  the  Additions  made  to  the  recent 
Paris  Editions  now  first  translated,  by  Francis 
Bowen,  Alford  Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy  in 
Harvard  University. 

Elegantly  printed  on  linen  paper,  at  the  University  Press. 

Bound  in  Maroon  Vellum.     2  vols. 

Post  8vo.     Price,  $  6.00. 

BOSTON  POST. 
"A  new  edition  of  this  noble  work  is  before  us,  carefully 
edited  by  Professor  Bowen,  with  brief  elucidatory  notes  from 
the  twelfth  edition,  and  contains  the  matter  which  De  Tocque- 
ville  then  added,  and  the  last  edition  which  he  supervised.  This 
matter  consists  of  his  Essay  on  Democracy  in  Switzerland,  his 
great  Speech,  predicting  the  French  Revolution  of  1848,  and 
his  eloquent  Advertisement,  addressed  to  his  countrymen,  urging 
a  study  of  American  institutions,  as  affording  the  most  instruc- 
tive lessons  for  the  organization  and  conduct  of  the  new  French 
Republic.  These  three  papers  are  for  the  first  time  translated 
and  printed  here,  and  are  valuable  additions.  To  this  is  added 
a  Memoir  of  the  Author." 

NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE. 
"The  work  is  now  presented  to  the  American  public  in  a  form 
not  unworthy  of  its  high  claim  as  a  profound  disquisition  on  the 
philosophy  of  republican  institutions  as  exemplified  in  the  United 
States.  It  is  brought  out  in  the  superb  typography  of  the  Cam- 
bridge University  Press." 

CINCINNATI  DAILY  GAZETTE. 
"  For  substantial  elegance,  perfection  of  paper,  faultlessness 
of  typography,  and  severely  simple  tastefulness,  the  Cambridge 
edition  of  De  Tocqueville  has  never  been  equalled  on  this  side 
of  the  Atlantic.  Indeed,  we  have  seen  few  or  no  rivals  bearing 
an  English  imprint.  It  is  an  honor  not  only  to  the  publishers, 
but  to  the  book-trade  of  America. " 

NEW  YORK  TIMES. 

"In  its  mechanical  execution,  this  edition  approaches  what  it 
is  so  difficult  to  find  in  either  books  or  humanity,  — perfection." 

BOSTON   COURIER. 
"  It  is  one  of  the  handsomest  and  most  tasteful  books  which 
have  ever  issued  from  the  American  press.     The  paper,  the  type, 
the  press-work,   the  binding,  are  all  of  the  first  quality.     The 
casket  is  worthy  of  the  gem  ;  we  cannot  give  it  higher  praise." 

7 


Bowetfs  Logic. 
A    TREATISE     ON     LOGIC, 

OR  THE  LAWS  OF  PURE  THOUGHT; 

Comprising  both  the  Aristotelic  and  the  Hamiltonian 
Analyses  of  Logical  Forms. 

By    FRANCIS    BO  WEN, 

ALFORD    PROFESSOR   OF    MORAL    PHILOSOPHY    IN    HARVARD 

UNIVERSITY. 

I2ITLO.       Cloth,    $  2.00. 

THE    PUBLISHERS'    CIRCULAR. 

"There  was  great  need  for  just  such  a  book  as  this.  Whale- 
ly's  Logic  is  too  old  for  the  present  state  of  the  science,  and  the 
great  work  of  Mill  deals  more  with  applied  and  concrete  thought 
than  with  the  abstract  laws  of  pure  thought.  Professor  Bowen's 
work  is  fully  up  to  the  modern  state  of  the  science.  It  embodies 
the  results  reached  by  Hamilton,  Mansel,  Thomson,  De  Morgan, 
Boole,  Mill,  and  others,  who,  within  the  last  quarter  of  a  century, 
have  given  a  new  impetus  to  the  study  of  the  laws  of  thought 
and  the  theory  of  logical  forms.  The  labors  of  Keiswetter,  Fries, 
Bencke,  Dressier,  Drobisch,  and  others  among  the  Germans, 
have  also  been  placed  under  contribution.  We  have  thus  a  man- 
ual for  collegiate  study  and  for  the  perusal  of  professional  and 
educated  minds,  which  will  initiate  them  into  the  most  recent 
investigations.  We  should  very  much  like  to  see  the  work  intro- 
duced into  our  institutions  for  advanced  instruction." 

THE    ROUND    TABLE. 

"  There  has  been  in  our  language  an  open  field  and  a  pressing 
demand  for  a  treatise  of  the  character  which  Professor  Bowen  has 
sought  to  provide.  We  are  glad  that  he  has  been  induced  to 
meet  this  demand.  We  are  glad,  also,  to  find  that  he  has  met  it 
so  well.  A  simple  inspection  of  the  well-conceived  and  well- 
arranged  table  of  contents  is  sufficient  to  convince  any  one  who 
is  conversant  with  the  subject,  and  with  other  treatises,  that  the 
author  has  been  very  judicious  in  the  selection  of  his  leading 
themes  and  in  the  general  outline  of  his  subordinate  divisions. 
We  can  confidently  pronounce  this  work  to  be  scholar- 
iike  and  thorough  in  its  character,  and  most  honorable  to  the 
distinguished  position  and  reputation  of  its  respected  author." 
NEW-ENGLAND  ER. 

"The  plan  of  Professor  Bowen  is  more  comprehensive  than 
that  of  any  of  the  works  which  we  have  named.  The  execution 
is  in  many  respects  deserving  of  high  commendation,  as  we 
should  expect  it  would  be  from  the  well-known  ability,  thorough- 
ness, and  industry  of  the  author.  ' 

ZION'S    HERALD. 

"As  it  regards  definition,  clearness,  and  fulness  of  statement  of 
the  various  points  which  make  a  complete^  scientific  treatise,  we 
think  the  author  has  succeeded  in  producing  a  better  text-book 
than  any  other  before  the  American  people." 


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